Not in Marble Palaces
by Poinsettia
Summary: Forced into a new existence amid the dark secrets of a Northern mill town, Blair Waldorf comes to realize that happiness and redemption can bloom in the unlikeliest of places. B/C Historical. AU.
1. White Darkness

**AN: So, this is my first try at writing fanfiction though I have been reading GG fanfiction for quite a while now. Thus, I'd very much appreciate constructive criticism :). I can ensure everyone that this will be a C/B story although the first two chapters will only feature Blair. But I hope you'll bear with me (and Blair).**  
**Much love to my beta Robin for her encouragement and for pointing out that "grey" is apparently my favorite adjective. **

Disclaimer: I don't own GG or the title of this story (which I borrowed from a translation of a Pedro Salinas poem)

**I. White Darkness**

May 1799, Northern England

Blair awoke with a jolt from a light slumber. A sharp pain shot through the fairly fresh scar on her stomach, causing her to curse the terrible road conditions under her breath. Although the surgery, or butchering, as Blair liked to think of it, had been only two weeks ago, and even though Blair was in no condition for traveling, she had been most eager to leave. The fog of sleepy disorientation cleared when she took in her surroundings and remembered where she was. The swaying movements, which had lulled her to sleep not too long ago, belonged to a slowly rotting post carriage. Usually, Blair would have tried to avoid them at all costs for fear of meeting commoners or runaway couples. In fact, one of these forlorn couples was sitting across from her, probably on their way to Scotland to elope. She pitied and envied them at the same time. Most of all, she pitied their naivety. They would soon realize that love would not feed them or buy clothing for their future litter of children. If the girl survived the ordeal of childbearing at all, she would before long resent her husband for making her life miserable. Still, Blair couldn't help but envy their obvious affection for each other. How the man offered his coat to his beloved because she was shivering, and how the girl took her beau's hand ever so tenderly. Blair felt bile rising in her throat at the scene and decided that the landscape outside was far more pleasurable to look at despite its grim harshness.

Although Blair was grateful to Lily for finding her a suitable governess position so quickly and discreetly, she would have preferred the soothing nature and atmosphere of the South. Up here, everything seemed to be less colorful. Even the sun appeared to be drained of its warmth. This bleakness seemed to increase with every mile the carriage drew closer to the city. Blair had heard that Oldham was on its way to becoming the cotton metropolis of the world; and, indeed, every single person on this bumpy, potholed road seemed to be eager to reach the black, smoky pit of chimneys and concrete, looming on the horizon.

Blair suspected that Lily had secured a position for her in this Moloch because she might have heard from her private detective that Serena was here. Neither Blair nor Lily had heard from her ever since she ran away from her parents' estate two month ago in the dark of the night after a disagreement with her mother. At first Blair had been devastated and disappointed that her friend hadn't confided in her, but deep in her heart she knew that Serena would be much happier living in sin than being chained to an old, haggard leech in marriage. But despite what they both may have believed then, Blair knew now that even a consensual union could end in disaster and that a trusted person could fail you. Now, Blair could only try and make the best of a future that had once looked so promising but was now no brighter than a coal mine.

As the carriage reached its destination in front of a shabby looking inn, Blair was suddenly overcome with fear of her new life. Not only did she not know whether her new employers were respectable, she also did not know how to teach bratty, spoiled children. She had been such a child herself and thus knew that this position would be a living hell for her. Lily had only been able to secure her this employment because of her good breeding and broad education, and not due to her vast experience with teaching. Nevertheless, Blair prided herself in possessing all the accomplishments of a proper young genteel miss. Her mother and father had ensured that she received the best education and tutors available, thus making her more desirable for future suitors and their fastidious mothers. At the thought of her parents and their role in her current predicament, heavy tears rose to her eyes. Blair blinked heavily, willing herself not to cry in front of the lovesick couple in the seat across from her. She doubted that they even noticed her, but she did not want to be a weak, little girl. Besides, it would not do to appear red-eyed and blotchy in front of a new employer on the first day of work.

Getting out of the carriage, fresh pain surged through her wound. She shouldn't have worn a corset yet, as per doctor's order, but Blair did not see how she could look decent without it. Her mother had made her wear her first corset at age ten and now was certainly not the time to break with tradition. Blair knew that Serena would not have hesitated to wear one of those fashionable French corset-less gowns, but Blair wasn't Serena, and she didn't think that her new employers would appreciate a progressive governess. Despite living in the North, where the genteel and traditional life of the South was frowned upon, she knew that the family lived off the property that the father had inherited from a distinct uncle in the South. She shuddered at the thought that most of the wealthy men in the area were tradesmen, running cotton mills.

While the coachman unloaded Blair's luggage, she let her gaze sweep over the filthy and grim square. She could not help but compare the worn-down houses and muddy streets to the blooming and lush town plazas of the South. Again, tears sprung up in her eyes, but she forced herself to stay calm. She noticed a group of drunken, vile men in front of the inn. One of them leered at her unabashedly. Despite feeling exposed and uncomfortable, Blair stared back at him until he averted his gaze. Triumphantly, she smiled to herself while searching the streets for any sign of a lavish carriage. However, she saw nothing of the like, not even a waiting maid. Blair sighed angrily, marching over to the party of inebriated men to inquire after a carriage that she could hire.

"Excuse me, Sir", Blair addressed one with a disgusted look. The man turned to grin at her with porous, yellow teeth. "Do you happen to know where I can find a carriage to take me to Twelve Oaks Manor?"

"Just inquire inside _The Lion_, lass," he said, pointing to the door behind him.

"Thank you, Sir," Blair replied with a fake smile. "Would you be so kind as to watch my luggage while I'm inside? I'll pay you for it."

"No need, Miss. I'll do it for free." He gave her another crooked smile.

Blair nodded and opened the door to the inn. An uncomfortable sense of foreboding overcame her and she turned around to the man hesitatingly. He returned her gaze and continued to grin while taking another sip from his foul-smelling bottle. For a moment Blair considered carrying her luggage inside, but knew that it was impossible due to her condition. The doctor had strictly forbidden her to lift heavy things for fear of ripping open her wound, and Blair was sure that a doctor in this part of the country was as rare as soap.

Taking a final look at her trunks, Blair stepped into the inn. She was hit with an odor that smelled even worse than the men outside the door. Blair retrieved an embroidered handkerchief from her money purse to cover her nose, but it couldn't mask the thick stench of alcohol, sweat and vomit. The few patrons sitting at the bar didn't seem to mind the stink or that a young lady hat just entered the establishment. However, the bartender took notice of her and stared at her expectantly. Blair thought he must have lived and worked his whole life in this godforsaken place, considering the deep wrinkles that marred his leathery and greyish-tinged skin.

"Excuse me, Sir, I'm in need of a carriage to take me to Twelve Oaks Manor. Can you help me find one?" Blair asked with a determined voice.

The old man behind the counter regarded her silently for a couple of minutes, and Blair grew impatient. Just as she wanted to start over again, thinking that he might not have heard her, he answered with a heavy Manchester accent, "Twelve Oaks Manor, ey? What business do you have there?"

"Not that it is any of your concern, Sir," Blair said indignantly, "but I am the new governess."

"The new governess?" He started laughing warmly. "Well, child, I hope you'll last longer than the others."

"The others?" Blair asked, forcing herself to ignore the insult of being called a child.

"Oh yes, you aren't the first governess up there, you know. My wife says that the lady of the house is a real dragon. And there has been talk of inappropriate relationships with the Master," he chuckled.

Blair pulled herself up to her full height. "I can assure you that I have no intention of romancing the Master."

The old man chuckled again and let his gaze linger on her dainty form. "You are very beautiful, if you don't mind me sayin', Miss, and the old hag will be jealous of you just for that. I think you'll be back down here in no time," he said with a hint of pity in his voice.

"Do you have a carriage for me or not, Sir?" Blair huffed.

The bartender gave her an appreciative smile and whistled once. Immediately, a small and sickly-looking boy, no older than fourteen, appeared from a side door that Blair hadn't noticed before.

"Thomas, get the horses ready, and take this young miss up to the Twelve Oaks Manor before it gets dark," the old man said.

Thomas looked at Blair and blushed. Quickly, he averted his gaze and nodded shyly, leaving the room in a hurry.

"Don't mind him, Miss. He is a good boy, though a little slow," the bartender told Blair apologetically. "He will wait for you at the front door."

"Thank you most kindly, Sir," Blair said while preparing to leave.

"Miss …?"

Blair turned to face the bartender again, tapping her foot impatiently.

"If you don't like it up there, I'd be happy to give you a job here. My wife would be very happy to get such a pretty girl as you. You could make a lot of money, I'm tellin' you. We got a lot of rich men visitin'," he said secretively, pointing to a door to his left labeled with "Gentlemen only."

Blair looked at him questioningly, until it dawned on her that she had walked right into a whore house. Her eyes widened and she shook her head emphatically. Quickly, she turned to leave but was struck with an idea.

"Sir, does a Serena van der Woodsen work here? She is tall, blonde, and gorgeous," Blair said, trying to indicate the height with her hands.

"Sorry, lass, but I can't tell you about the girls working here. We gave them our word," he said almost proudly.

Blair smiled at him sadly. "It was worth a try. Thank you, Sir."

As Blair finally stepped out of the small inn, it had already grown much darker, the dusty smoke aiding the process considerably. She noticed that the dirty men from before had disappeared and the streets were deadly empty and silent.

With a sudden shock, Blair registered that her whole luggage had disappeared as well. She closed her eyes as tears gathered behind her lids for the third time that day. She scolded herself for being so naïve as to trust drunken men in an unknown town. Blair took a deep breath to soothe her nerves before being able to reopen her eyes and face the prospect of arriving at her new employer's house without a stitch to wear. She had some money to buy a few new dresses, of course, but she would never be able to replace the rich silk gowns that she had rescued from her old home.

In that moment, Thomas drove up with a small cart and looked at her with concern. "Is everything all right, Miss?"

"My luggage was stolen," Blair stated without emotion.

"I'm sorry, Miss," Thomas said emphatically. "You need to be careful around here. I'll tell Arthur about it. Maybe he can find it for you," he rambled on, clearly not knowing what to do with a distressed female.

"Arthur?" Blair asked while climbing onto the cart.

"Yes, he owns _The Lion_. You just talked to him inside, Miss. He knows a great many people."

Blair didn't answer. She just stared ahead at the filthy road as Thomas drove the cart outside of the foggy town. Blair was jolted from her thoughts when the wheels hit a large stone and another wave of stinging pain rolled through her. Blair clutched her belly tightly and bit on her bottom lip to keep from crying out. After a few agonizing moments had passed, Blair let out a small breath, glad that Thomas hadn't noticed her discomfort due to the semidarkness enveloping them. However, she realized that the cart was climbing a steep hill, causing the horse to wheeze loudly.

"We are almost there, Miss," Thomas said, nodding towards a giant shadow in the distance. As they drew nearer, Blair could see that the house had been newly built from white stones, making it look as if covered in snow and ice. However, despite its poetic name, no oaks were to be seen on the grounds.

"Thomas, tell me, is the entire house built from marble?" Blair asked in awe.

"Aye, Miss. The Mistress only wanted the best and after they came into money, they could easily afford it. But no one down in the town likes it. Up here in the north, Miss, people don't care about all that fancy things; they care about having enough food for their children."

Blair wondered what Thomas would think of her if he knew that, just a month ago, she had been almost as rich and ostentatious.

The cart came to a halt in front of the lavish entrance and Blair stared at it with reverence. The marble pillars adorning the terrace reflected the moonlight with an icy glow. Even the light from the few lanterns at the door was sucked into this abyss of snowy cold perfection. All the curtains were drawn, emitting not the slightest sliver of light from the inside. Blair began to fear that everyone had already retired to bed when the front door opened and a tall man stepped out unto the white terrace.

"This must be Miss Waldorf," the main said in a gruff but pleasant voice, now advancing towards her.

As he came closer, Blair could make out his boyish handsome features. She was sure that he was no older than thirty, and the slight wrinkles around his eyes spoke of a man who was no stranger to joviality. In the black gloominess, Blair couldn't make out the shade of his eyes or hair, but noticed that his eyes glimmered playfully as he took her in. Still, since he was dressed smartly and fashionably, she decided that he would be likeable enough as a Master. She was pleased that he offered his hand to assist her descent from the cart and Blair accepted his help gratefully.

"Thank you …. Lord Baizen?" Blair addressed him hesitantly, not knowing if he was indeed the Master of the house.

"Please call me Mr. Baizen, Miss Waldorf. Or if you are so inclined, call me Carter," he said with a small laugh. "Only my wife prefers to be addressed by our new title. She is very proud that way."

"Well, I'm very pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Baizen," Blair said with a curtsey.

"So am I," he said, a beaming smile stretching his lips. "I insisted on waiting up for you, to receive you properly. But you must excuse my wife not being here, Miss Waldorf. She has a delicate constitution and will meet with you first thing in the morning."

"Of course," Blair replied understandingly. If she was honest, she was more than relieved that she had the chance to gather her strength before coming face to face with the 'dragon.'

"You will also meet our two girls tomorrow," he added. "They are very excited to meet their new governess."

Mr. Baizen finally looked towards the cart, but raised his eyebrows in question when he found nothing there but Thomas. "I would applaud you for traveling light, Miss Waldorf, but no luggage at all seems a little odd for a young, beautiful miss, such as yourself."

Blair chose to ignore the obvious compliment. "It was stolen in town while I was searching for a carriage to take me up here," she tried to reply without sounding bitter.

"Those scoundrels!" he exclaimed exasperatedly, anger flashing in his eyes. "I apologize that your first encounter with the North should have been this unfortunate, Miss Waldorf. As you will learn soon, most people up here are still heathens without an inch of good breeding or civility!"

Blair was embarrassed that Thomas, who had been nothing but kind to her, was within earshot to hear Mr. Baizen's rant. Her gaze swept to him sitting on the cart, his face stony, betraying no emotions.

"Mr. Baizen," she said soothingly, putting her hand on his arm, "I'm sure some of my clothes can be recovered; Thomas here has already offered his help. And I can always buy some new dresses, if necessary."

Blair saw from the corner of her eyes that Thomas's face had relaxed considerably; however, Mr. Baizen's expression seemed to have grown more enraged and for a moment Blair felt a flash of fear pulse through her. Yet, when his gaze settled back on her, the twinkle had returned and his features softened.

"Come now, Miss Waldorf, I will show you inside. I'm sure you must be tired from your journey," he said calmly.

Blair turned to the cart, reaching into her money purse to pay Thomas, but he just shook his head. "No, Miss, no money among friends." He smiled at her timidly and drove off into the night, leaving her with a feeling of loneliness once more.

Suddenly, she felt Mr. Baizen's hand at the small of her back, guiding her towards the front entrance of the mansion. Although inappropriate, Blair tried to shrug his gesture off as mere amicability. She had heard that the rules of propriety were not as strict in the North, and she didn't want to cause a scene because of a misunderstanding.

As she crossed the threshold to the house, Blair realized that there was no turning back. She was a servant now that had to abide to her employers' wishes, even if it pained her to admit it.

"Welcome to our humble home," Mr. Baizen said, gesturing towards the entrance hall. It was built from white marble, just as the outer façade, glittering menacingly even in the light of the few candles that lined the grand staircase. Blair noticed with irritation that her arrival clearly hadn't been important enough to light the grand crystal chandelier gleaming below the high ceiling.

"You can look at everything tomorrow, but I'll show you to your room now. Since I sent the servants to bed earlier, you will have to make do with me," he said, winking at her as if they shared a dirty secret.

"That is quite all right, Mr. Baizen. Lead the way," Blair said politely, trying to put some distance between them. Mr. Baizen, however, didn't move his hand from her back and nudged her towards the staircase. Blair hesitantly ascended the stone stairs, listening to the clicking of her heeled shoes reverberating through the silent hall.

Arriving on the landing of the top floor, Blair felt Mr. Baizen guide her into a long, carpeted hallway, illuminated by a single candle flickering on a small side-table. Finally, they reached a wooden double wing door at the end of the hallway. Mr. Baizen smiled down at her and pushed down the brass handle to open the door. He gestured for her to step in first. Blair took a cautious step inside and was momentarily rendered breathless. Even in her old house, she never had had a beautiful room such as this. The walls were decorated with lavish silken tapestry in an exotic red hue. At the wall to her right, a grand blaze was crackling in a glorious black marble fireplace; and another door led to, as Blair surmised, a private dressing room. The spacious mahogany four poster bed, large enough to hold three people, was covered with lush green silk bedding and more pillows than Blair could count. The crème carpet seemed soft as feathers and almost as comfortable to lie on as the bed. A plate with ripe, burgundy red grapes twinkled at her from an elegant dresser. The four wall-to-ceiling windows were draped with red luxurious velvet curtains that Blair itched to touch. She was sure that in the morning she would have a great view of the garden from these windows. It was almost as if she was back home in Hampshire, and the last year had never happened.

Blair turned to her companion and gave him a radiant smile. "I believe this will do very well, Mr. Baizen."

He laughed and without warning took one of Blair's hands in his and brought it to his mouth to kiss it. Blair wanted to draw back, but he held her fingers with an iron grip, refusing to let go.

"Miss Waldorf, I'm sure you will find much pleasure here," he said with a smirk. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to knock on my door. My private rooms are right across the hall."

He finally released her hand and Blair smiled tightly. "I'm very tired, Mr. Baizen. I bid you Goodnight," she said with a steely voice.

His face fell momentarily, but to Blair's relief he took a few steps back. "Don't fret, Miss Waldorf, I am sure we can fix your dire need for clothing." To emphasize his point, he let his gaze glide over her body leisurely.

Blair crossed her arms protectively over her bosom and gave him a withering glare. "I said, Goodnight, Mr. Baizen."

He chuckled again and closed the door behind him. Blair let out a deep breath and moved to lock the door. She realized with horror that the key was missing. Quickly, she looked around the room to find something to bolt the door with. Unfortunately, all the wardrobes were made of heavy mahogany wood and thus too heavy for her to move alone. At last, she spotted a wooden chair next to the bed, which she wedged under the door's brass handle.

Blair studied her construction and immediately felt stupid. Maybe Mr. Baizen was just teasing her after all, and she was behaving like a prudish, little school girl. After all, he was nothing more than a rich gentleman, trying to charm her into his bed. Still, she decided to leave the chair in its place for tonight and ask Mrs. Baizen for the key tomorrow.

Blair sighed and started to remove her straw bonnet, heavy traveling cloak and dress. It was the last silk dress she still owned and it was not the most sensible one. She fidgeted with the strings of her corset, groaning in frustration. She was still not entirely used to undressing and dressing herself, but she knew she could not expect to have a maid attend to her here. Wincing as she undid her corset, she suddenly felt fresh pain pinch her stomach. Dressed only in her white cotton chemise and knickers, she entered the door to the adjoining dressing room. Thankfully, several candles had been lit, so that she could wash her wound. As she removed her shift, she noticed that it was inflamed and some blood had seeped out, leaving a brownish crust along the still visible stitches. With a towel and some water she tried to clean herself and alleviate the sharp stinging sensation. She attempted to touch her sore stomach gently, but drew her hand back as if burned, afraid of the agony. Dizziness overcame her, causing her to sit down on the cold, glittering floor. She stared at her marred and bruised body, not knowing if the hurt would ever subside or if she would ever be beautiful again.

After a few fortifying breaths, she found the strength to stand up again, comb out her curls, and redress in her chemise. Carefully, she walked back to bedroom, throwing a cautious glance towards the door. Before climbing under the feathery soft covers, which had as Blair suspected surely been imported from France, she drew back the heavy drapes from the window, hoping to catch a peek at the moonlit garden. However, all she saw were the ominous remnants of a brick building, looming in the night like an ancient stone cross. She stared at it for several minutes, trying to make out the structure. Yet, her tired eyes refused to see more than blurry shapes. Finally, she squeezed her eyes close and let the velvet curtain fall from her hands, covering the gloomy scene until the next morning.

As soon as Blair had climbed into her new bed, she fell into an uneasy slumber. She awoke several times, hearing the wind blow through the cracks in the windows. At one time she even imagined hearing something scraping the door, but when she opened her eyes she was relieved to see the chair in its old place, still guarding the entry to her bedroom.


	2. Silent Noise

**AN: A big thanks to everyone who favorited this story and to everyone who took the time to review. I can't tell you how much it meant to me. :)**  
**A big hug to my beta Robin who edited this monster of a chapter.**

**II. Silent Noise**

Blair awoke the next morning to loud voices outside her door. She couldn't catch a single word but was able to identify Mr. Baizen's roguish tone and a high-pitched female voice. Blair already disliked the strange lady based on the grating sounds coming out of her mouth. She let her gaze move to the door tiredly. With a start, she jumped out of the bed, which was no easy feat considering its height, and scrambled to move the chair away from the door. She couldn't risk some maid coming in and running right into her security measures. That would surely get her fired right away. After moving the weighty chair to the side with some effort, she put her ear on the cold wood of the door, straining to catch parts of the conversation in the hallway once more. She realized that it might be undignified to eavesdrop on one's employers, but she also knew from experience that Masters liked to complain about the help, and if they were talking about her, she wanted to know it. To Blair's dismay, the voices appeared to be moving further away from her door.

Disappointed, Blair made her way over to the adjacent room to get dressed. She didn't want a maid, or worse, the lady of the house, catching her wearing knickers. They had been a present from Serena before she ran away. She had proclaimed them to be the latest fashion in France, but Blair knew that only loose women would be seen dressing in them. Still, after lying untouched in her wardrobe for several months, Blair had finally decided to try them on just before her departure to the North. To her surprise, she had found them comfortable enough, and since she didn't plan on undressing in front of anyone in the near future, she could see no harm in wearing them.

Putting on her corset and wrinkled gown with care so as to not rip open her stitches, Blair surveyed the dressing room critically, which was now illuminated by a circular ceiling window. She had never seen anything like it, nor had she ever seen a gilded tub and washbasin, which appeared more like decorative accessories than actual objects. Blair ran her finger along the ornate frame of a large oval mirror that adorned one side of the silk-paper decorated walls. Hesitantly, she forced herself to look into it, recoiling from her own reflection. Her usually lush brown curls were a tangled and lanky mess, her already pale complexion even more translucent, lending her the appearance of a haggard ghost. Immediately, she went over to the basin, poured some cold water from a porcelain jug into it, and splashed her face.

"Do you need a new towel, Miss?"

Blair whirled around, not having heard anyone coming into the bedroom. A round-faced, blond girl, dressed in a black maid's uniform, looked at her curiously.

"Excuse me, Miss, for scaring you. Lady Baizen sent me up to see if you might need help," she said with an apologetic look, but without curtseying.

"What is your name, girl?" Blair said harshly, but instantly regretting her impoliteness. After all, it wasn't the girl's fault that she felt out of place in this house.

"My name is Jenny, Miss," the girl replied, straightening her back haughtily.

Blair smiled wryly, recognizing something of her own sense of pride in the young girl.

"I have drawn the curtain for you. Do you wish me to fix your hair, Miss?" Blair didn't miss the snobbish condescension in the maid's tone.

"Of course. One wouldn't want the Lady of the house to think that my current state of hair is the result of your inexperienced hands," Blair stated with a bored tone and a side glance at Jenny.

The girl's features softened slightly, apparently recognizing that Blair would not be as easy to defeat as the other governesses. Eventually, she gestured for Blair to take a seat on the brocade ottoman in front of the dressing room mirror. Blair was pleasantly surprised that she proved quite skilled with the curling tongs and hairpins, creating a sophisticated coiffure. In the end, looking much more refreshed and polished than before, she was more than pleased with her own reflection.

"Miss has very beautiful hair," Jenny said quietly. Blair suspected that it was meant as a peace offering.

She locked eyes with Jenny through the mirror, nodding slightly. "Thank you. You are as good a hairdresser as I have ever seen."

Jenny blushed, averting her eyes again. "The Mistress has sent up two dresses for you to wear since yours were stolen."

"Oh?" Blair asked surprised.

"Yes, Miss. She was not very pleased, I dare say. I heard her having a spat this morning with the Master about it," Jenny whispered secretively.

Blair was amazed at how she had become the maid's confidant so easily, but thought that it might prove to be highly beneficial in the future to have a secret source here. At least now, she didn't have to wonder any longer about the heated argument in front of her room this morning. However, she would never lower herself to form a friendship with this servant girl. She still had some standards, after all.

Blair rose from the ottoman to take a look at the two dresses Jenny had laid out for her on the bed. After hearing about Lady Baizen's reaction, she wasn't surprised that both of them looked vile and only fit for a farmer's wife. One of them was the most horrid shade of green. It looked more like a moldy, rancid piece of French cheese than a proper garment. The other one was a bright shade of pink that Blair had only seen on ladies of questionable reputation before.

"I'm sorry, Miss," Jenny said, sensing her misery, "but Lady Baizen is a very jealous woman."

And rightly so, Blair thought to herself.

"Do you need any help dressing, Miss?" Jenny inquired. Blair just shook her head, wanting a few more moments to herself before having to face the family in one of these repulsive dresses.

"The Mistress expects you in the breakfast room in thirty minutes, Miss."

As Jenny turned to leave, Blair remembered her discovery from last night and walked over to the now open windows. "Jenny, wait a moment. What is this ruin over there?"

"It was a cotton mill once, Miss, but burned down two years ago. Many workers died and the owner was injured too, I heard. I was very young then myself, Miss. After that, my Master bought this piece of land to build his mansion on."

"Thank you, Jenny," Blair said, dismissing the maid. She continued to stare at the blackened remains, only hearing the click of the door as it was closed.

The old ruin didn't look half as frightening in daylight, but Blair was overcome with an inexplicable surge of sadness, imagining the poor people being burned alive in there. She wondered why the Baizen's had never removed the charred building from their grounds. It seemed to be a morbid reminder of something she couldn't fathom. She felt the strange urge to go outside and walk through the eerie structure, running her hands along the still-standing stones. Almost turning around to head for the door, Blair remembered with gritted teeth that she now had to ask for permission before going anywhere. So, instead, she forced herself to choose one of the rags draped over the bed. She considered wearing her own dress for another day just to spite her new Mistress, but knew that she had no other option if she didn't want to starve on the streets. In the end, she decided on the green dress, which would hopefully quench Mr. Baizen's desire for flirtation.

Although a little early, Blair thought it best to go downstairs to the breakfast room, wanting to impress her employers with her punctuality. Cautiously, she opened the heavy door, peering around the corner to see if the corridor was vacated. She felt like a silly school girl, but she wanted to avoid being corned by Mr. Baizen at all cost. As everything seemed clear, Blair stepped out of her room, making her way towards the gleaming white staircase. Immediately, she cursed the newly acquired addition to her wardrobe since the stiff fabric was as noisy as a river during flood season.

Not wanting to knock on every door in search for the correct room, Blair hoped that her dress would at least draw the attention of a servant. However, not a single soul was to be seen. Having been a constant guest of large mansions her whole life, she decided that her best bet would be one of the rooms downstairs. As she descended the sweeping stairs, magnificently catching the light of another circular ceiling window, a low rumble of voices echoed off the polished walls. Blair tried to follow the noise in hopes of finding someone that could point her in the right direction. For a brief moment she wondered if, in her old life, she would have approved of servants snooping around her house; however, she quickly dismissed the thought. Lady Baizen had asked her to come downstairs after all, and thus Blair was only following orders.

After taking a right turn into another deserted marble hallway, which had been decorated with dreadful Dutch paintings, clearly bought without any knowledge of fine art, Blair heard voices grow louder from a nearby door left ajar.

" … _don't exert yourself, My Dear,"_ a male voice sneered.

"_I cannot believe you gave her one of the guest rooms. I told you explicitly she was to stay in the servant's quarters!"_ a female voice screeched.

"_Well, we can't very well put her there now, can we, My Dear. That would be impolite,"_ the dark voice replied mockingly.

Blair realized that it must be Mr. Baizen speaking, but she could hardly recognize him now. His gentle, teasing tone from last night had all but vanished, replaced by something malicious and cruel.

"_Tell me, Carter, is she your hussy too? Did you bring her here just to torture me?" _

"_Don't be ridiculous, Dearest,"_ Mr. Baizen said coldly.

"_Oh, I know everything about that blonde harlot from The Lion that you are visiting every night,"_ the female voice said with equal malice.

Blair heard Mr. Baizen laugh humorlessly. _"And yet, you are staying with me … because you are too afraid to leave me and lose all of the precious money. If anything, you are a much bigger harlot than she is."_

Blair would have expected the woman to slap him for that insult, but instead deadly silence spread through the house like a suffocating fog.

Not wanting to be caught listening in on private conversations, Blair frantically searched for a hiding place. Luckily, she spotted an open door a little further down the corridor and tried to slip into the room as quietly as possible, exhaling sharply once she was inside. Turning around, she realized that she had found the breakfast room by accident. Already the long table had been set for five people, pristine white cloths covering the surely expensive oak, and a clear crystal vase with exotic white flowers adorning it. She took a step closer to the table to get a better look at the soft ivory petals and clustered blooms. Just as she neared close to inhale the sweet scent, the door opened, revealing a displeased-looking woman.

Blair noticed her luxurious white silk gown at once, which was embellished with the finest black lace, imitating the color of her raven-black hair. Blair forced herself to fall into a barely noticeable curtsey, as she suspected that this female specimen was the Lady of the house.

"What are you doing here?" the woman snapped, in the same voice that Blair had heard in the other room.

"The maid told me that my presence was requested by you, Mrs. Baizen," Blair replied as politely as she could.

"It is _Lady_ Baizen, if you please," she said icily, surveying Blair with hawk-like grey eyes.

"I apologize, My Lady," Blair said, trying not to look irritated.

"You must be the new governess, Miss Waldorf, as my husband was so kind to inform me. I should have recognized you by your attire," the lady sneered, looking Blair up and down as one would a cow on market day.

Blair gritted her teeth to keep from throwing the crystal flower vase at the lady. "Indeed, Lady Baizen, I thank you for your gracious gift."

Lady Baizen just waved her hand dismissively and moved to sit down at the table.

"Yes, generosity is one of my wife's most striking characteristics. Isn't that right, Penelope?" Mr. Baizen said entering the room, having apparently heard the whole exchange.

He took Blair's hand, kissing it lightly, like he had the night before, seemingly disregarding his wife's seething stares. "This dress becomes you very well, Miss Waldorf," he said with mischief in his eyes, knowing that Blair would not believe a word he said.

"Thank you, Mr. Baizen," Blair said tartly, withdrawing her hand gently as to not cause a scene.

He moved to pull out a chair for her across from his wife and bade her to sit. As he took his seat at the head of the table, a portly maid waltzed into the room with a tray cart, loaded with steaming rolls, fresh ham and eggs. The maid poured tea for everyone and set a bowl of fresh fruit in the center of the table. Additionally, she put a large plate of delicious-looking French pastries between the two still empty places.

"I was just telling Miss Waldorf here," Lady Baizen continued as if nothing had happened, "that from now on she has to content herself with eating her meals in the kitchen with the other help, and use the servant's entrance when going out."

Blair was confounded for a second, staring at Lady Baizen blankly. However, when the shock had settled in, a small smile crept onto her lips. "Of course, Lady Baizen, as you wish. I'm sure the two Misses will be thrilled to get to see that particular part of the house." Blair calmly took up her porcelain tea cup, gazing at Lady Baizen innocently.

Lady Baizen swallowed. "Of course, you will take the front entrance when you are with my daughters, Miss Waldorf."

"As you wish, My Lady," Blair replied sweetly, knowing that she had gained a small victory.

"And who knows what would happen if no one is here to chaperone the young ladies. Why, they could very well eat the petals of this poisonous Oleander here on the table and die right next to it." At seeing Lady Baizen's face lose all color, Blair almost feared she had taken this battle too far; however, she was rescued by Mr. Baizen's roaring laughter and clapping.

"I must say, Miss Waldorf, it's not often that I get to see a show like this." His blue eyes twinkled. "Come now, Penelope, even you must admit that Miss Waldorf is right. It would not do for our girls to die of this atrocious flower that you like so much."

"Of course, Miss Waldorf will be welcome to dine with the family if her presence is needed," Lady Baizen said frostily, glaring at Blair darkly. At last she turned her eyes towards her husband. "Dearest, where are the girls? I want them to meet Miss Waldorf."

"I'm sure they are still playing in their rooms. I'll fetch them, Darling," he said rising from his chair.

Blair vowed that she would stab herself if she had to hear their falsely sweet endearments one more time. Her thoughts were disturbed by Lady Baizen's not-so-subtle cough.

"Miss Waldorf," she said sharply, "you may amuse my husband, but if you ever speak to me in that manner again, I'll have to let you go. Is that clear?"

"Very clear, Lady Baizen. It won't happen again," Blair said without averting her eyes. If she had to submit to this woman, then at least she didn't want to show any signs of weakness in front of her.

"Because if you do, not even my husband will save you. You should consider this as a warning, Miss Waldorf," she said in an almost empathetic tone. "He will play with you and see how far he can push you, but he won't come to your rescue. And the only place for you to go then would be the whorehouse, I fear."

Before Blair could respond, the door swung open again and two small dark-haired girls stormed into the room, fighting each other to reach the table first.

"Girls, behave yourself," their mother chastised them promptly. "We have a guest."

Blair turned to smile at the girls warmly, wanting to gain their confidence. "I am Miss Waldorf, your new governess. And you must be Katherine and Margaret, is that right?"

The older girl scrutinized Blair with the same pair of grey eyes as her mother's and reluctantly curtseyed. "Yes, Miss, I am Margaret. I am pleased to meet you," she said with a superior air.

Blair knew immediately that this girl, however immature she may be, would be no small feat to handle. She already was as big-headed as her parents.

The younger girl was no older than five, Blair guessed, and tried to hide behind a chair, sucking on her thumb, and staring at her with big blue eyes. Blair wanted to extend her hand to the child, to show her that she could be trusted, just as her own governess had done with her. However, her sister at once started to slap her hand away from her mouth. "You are not a baby anymore, Kathy. Stop it," she hissed.

Blair was surprised that little Kathy did not start wailing at once. Instead, she just took her hand out of her mouth and took her seat at the table without making any noise or sound.

Blair looked questioningly at Lady Baizen. "You see what trouble these girls are," she said as an explanation. "The older one is, of course, much more accomplished than Kathy. Our little one is a very strange and silent child," the Lady sighed.

"Is there something wrong with her?" Blair asked with a compassionate look at the girl, who was now quietly eating one of the pastries, keeping her eyes glued to the plate.

"Of course not," Lady Baizen snapped. "She is perfectly fine. She can speak, of course, but she rarely chooses to. You can imagine what that does to my nerves," she sighed again, this time more emphatically. "The doctors suggested that we might have to send her to a reformatory school if her behavior doesn't show any changes within the next year."

Blair hoped for the sake of the girl that she would be spared this experience. Over the years she had heard many atrocious things about such private institutions; children being beaten, starved or abused. She doubted that Kathy would benefit from such torture in any way, nor was it certain that she would survive it. And as much as Blair disliked children, she didn't wish this kind of fate on anyone, let alone an innocent girl.

Blair raised her hand to stroke Kathy's soft black hair, but the girl, sensing Blair's movement, quickly turned her face to meet Blair's eyes. Yet, she didn't say a word, only gazed at Blair like a frightened doe. Blair swiftly pulled back her hand, realizing that she had somehow intruded on the girl's personal space.

"She hasn't always been this way," Lady Baizen said quietly. "After she was born she was just as lively as her sister, but ….," Blair heard the woman struggle for the appropriate words, "… one morning a few years ago, when I came to wake her, her eyes were open wide as if she just had the most horrible nightmare, and she refused to sleep for two whole days. Instead, she just stared out of the window."

Although Blair was not very fond of the woman sitting across from her, she couldn't help but feel deep sympathy for her situation.

Suddenly, Lady Baizen's head snapped up like a rattlesnake; realizing whom she was talking to, she quickly rose from her chair.

"Miss Waldorf, I expect you to chaperone the children until they finish breakfast. After that they will have to do their German and Math lessons. In the afternoon you will practice drawing with them. You'll find all of the materials in the school room. One of the maids will show you around the house," she ordered matter-of-factly, moving around the table to kiss the girls goodbye.

"You will make sure that the girls are ready for dinner at the proper time. You can join us tonight in the family dining room, if you please."

"Thank you, Lady Baizen," Blair replied wryly.

"And, Miss Waldorf, I don't want to be disturbed during the day. I feel like I might get a migraine soon." She turned to leave and Blair heard her expensive slippers clack on the marble floor. As the noise ceased abruptly, Blair looked up to find Lady Baizen frozen in place, one hand on the door handle, apparently waiting for Blair to acknowledge her.

"But don't fret, Miss Waldorf, I'm sure my husband will keep you company," she said with a small sardonic smile before finally sweeping out of the room.

After the girls had finished their breakfast and Jenny had given her a tour of the house, Blair ushered the children to the school room, which was located where she had heard their parents arguing in the morning. The shelves on the walls were stacked with all the most recent editions of educational books, various painting and needlework utensils, a hand-painted globe, and as much chalk as a dedicated teacher could desire. A black piano throned in front of a windowed wall that looked out to the blackened ruin and parts of a small fenced orchard. A large blackboard hung on another wall and still sported the scribblings of the former governess. Whatever the failings of the parents may be, Blair thought, they at least wanted their children to have a good education. Blair would be forever grateful to her parents and governess for forcing her to sit through her tedious lessons since without them she would not be able to earn her own living now.

Blair was surprised that the children seated themselves in two small chairs in front of the blackboard without further ado, looking at her with polite impatience. As she had only been on the receiving end of teaching until now, Blair felt nervousness settle into the pit of her stomach. Frantically, she tried to remember how her own governess had done the lessons but came up blank. To buy herself some time, she cleared her throat loudly and started to erase the old writings from the board with a dirty cloth she had found on the teacher's table.

"Ladies, I see that you studied German verb conjugation with your last governess?"

"Yes, Miss Waldorf, until I caught her kissing father in the kitchen," Margaret said with an unsettling gleefulness.

"Did you? And did you tell your mother what you saw," Blair asked, already knowing the answer.

"Indeed, Miss. I didn't like her very much anyway, and mother had her thrown out the same night," the little girl affirmed as if talking about her fondest memory.

"Well, Miss Margaret, you can be sure that I will be staying here for a long time," Blair said sternly, trying to reproach the girl.

Margaret just smirked and shrugged her tiny shoulders, throwing her sister a conspiratorial glance. Kathy, however, didn't notice because she was staring at Blair.

"I think we should continue with the verb conjugation so you will remember it better," Blair said determinedly, not allowing any arguments.

"Fräulein Katherine, bitte konjugieren Sie das Verb 'denken'" Blair said to the shy child gently. Yet, instead of conjugating the verb, Kathy turned her head, staring out of the window towards the dead mill.

"Fräulein Katherine …," Blair tried again, moving around the table to block Kathy's view and catch her attention.

Blair heard Margaret snicker. "You will never get her to talk to you, Miss. She doesn't like strangers … especially new governesses, who wear ugly dresses …," the older girl said acidly.

"Auf Deutsch, Fräulein Margaret!"

Ignoring Margaret's rants, Blair crouched down in front of Kathy. The little girl's eyes were distant and vacant. Blair tried to pull her out of her reverie by slowly laying her hand on Kathy's cheek; immediately, her eyes refocused, scrutinizing Blair once more. Blair swore that she saw the ghost of a tiny smile flit across her pale face, gone before it could bloom into something more. After a long moment, Kathy turned towards the paper lying in front of her on her desk, took up her feather, and started to write down the conjugations in a flawless hand.

"See, I told you, Miss, she will never talk to you," Margaret gloated once more.

"Auf Deutsch, bitte. Sonst müssen Sie eine extra Stunde Deutsch lernen," Blair said sweetly.

"But, Miss Waldorf, I don't want to do an extra German lesson," Margaret wailed. Blair only raised one eyebrow, challenging her to go further.

Margaret sunk her head, whispering "Entschuldigung" and began to scribble on her paper.

xxxxx

Later in the day, Blair decided to take the girls outside since the afternoon promised to be beautiful and mild. Though Blair loathed drawing almost as much as embroidering cushions, she wanted to at least enjoy the warmth of the sun while it lasted. She now understood that the Baizen's had built their mansion away from the town so they could enjoy the much fresher air up on this hill rather than the stink of the smoke-filled alleys. With a deep breath, Blair plopped down on one of the garden chairs, letting the girls roam freely through the bushes and flowers for a few minutes. Just as she had closed her eyes to enjoy the smell of freshly-grown grass and apple blossoms, a dark shadow blocked the sun rays from her face. Rapidly, Blair opened her eyes only to stare up into the face of a displeased looking olive-skinned servant.

"Excuse me, Miss Waldorf," the girl said, appearing not in the least remorseful for her disruption, "the Lady has certainly told you that the two Misses are not to go near the ruins or go outside without their bonnets."

"Indeed, she has," Blair lied, "but she must have forgotten to tell me your name. It must have slipped her mind, I'm sure."

The woman's cheeks turned scarlet red with embarrassment. "I'm Vanessa Abrams, her Lady's chambermaid," she said with a small curtsey.

"That must be a terribly demanding position, Vanessa," Blair smiled sweetly. "But you seem to be strong enough to empty out your Lady's chamber pot."

The maid huffed and threw two small bonnets in her lap. "Take care that the children won't wake up the Mistress." Then, she scrutinized Blair's attire pointedly. "And don't get any dirt on these dresses, Miss … I want them back just as they were."

Blair just gave the obnoxious servant a dismissive wave with her hand and watched her storm off. She should have known that Lady Baizen would not only give her hideous gowns, but a servant's dresses too.

She called over the girls to put on their hats, which they complied to with surprisingly little fussing. Afterward, Blair set up different paint brushes, graphite pens and oil colors, trying to get the girls to create a sketch of the apple tress in the garden. Blair realized that she was of little help for the girls since her own drawing resembled a giraffe more than a tree. Luckily, Margaret was more than eager to show off her creative skills and produced a fairly good likening of the orchard. But when Blair looked over Kathy's shoulder to examine her progress, she was shocked to see the dark outlines of a destroyed house greet her from the paper. Although Kathy had her back turned towards the old mill, she had drawn it in great detail from her memory.

Blair wanted to hide the picture from Margaret, but her prying eyes and tiny arms were quicker. She snatched the picture from the table, got up from her chair like a whirlwind, and ran right into her father, who happened to step out of the house at that precise moment.

Blair groaned inwardly, already steeling herself for the worst.

"Father, look what Kathy drew, I'm sure Miss Waldorf has let her go over to the ruins," Margaret said hastily before Blair could intervene.

For a split second, Blair thought she saw a glint of suspicion flash in Mr. Baizen's eyes, but he immediately started laughing loudly as if his daughter had just told him the most comical story. "My Dear, you know very well that this is not the first time Kathy has drawn it," he said, giving his daughter's chin a reproving nudge. Directing his eyes at Blair, he added, "She has had a weird fascination with that building ever since we moved here."

"Don't worry, Miss Waldorf, I won't tell my wife about it," he stepped closer towards her, "it will be our little secret."

In response Blair took a step back, straightening her spine, "Mr. Baizen, I must tell you that you won't receive any favors from me … if you thought that you had a chance with me."

She could see that he was surprised by her directness, but waited for her to continue.

"And, I will ask your wife tonight if she would be so kind as to give me a key for my chamber door."

Mr. Baizen's eyes betrayed nothing but mild interest; suddenly, he leaned forward, grabbing Blair's hip forcefully to try to keep her from moving away. Blair almost cried out in pain as he pushed his thumb deep into her stomach. "I'm afraid the key has been lost years ago, Blair," he whispered close to her ear.

"Unhand me immediately!" she hissed.

When he finally released his hold, she noticed with horror that not only the children had witnessed their encounter, but also the maid from before, who had come out with a tray of lemonade. She could imagine quite easily what this scene must look like, and she was sure that the rude woman would tell everything to Lady Baizen before the day was over.

To her surprise, Mr. Baizen pulled out a large pound note from his pocket, pushing it into the servant's apron and giving her a meaningful look. She nodded almost imperceptibly.

Blair felt as if she would faint when she saw Vanessa's smug expression as she returned to the house, a confused Margaret in tow. In this moment, she wanted nothing more than to strangle the servant with her greasy black hair, or gag her with her atrocious dress. To her dismay, Blair was ripped from her fantasies when a small hand tugged on her skirts. Kathy's face stared up at her with an unfathomable expression. Yet, before Blair could react, Kathy had started running towards the ruins, looking behind her to make sure that Blair was following her.

"No, Kathy, you can't go there," Blair all but screamed, hastening after the child.

Instead of dashing inside the fallen building, Kathy stopped abruptly several feet away from a sooty entrance, which must have been the mill's main door once. When Blair caught up with Kathy, she knelt down on the grass next to her, not caring if she would ruin Vanessa's stupid dress. Kathy twisted her head slightly, catching Blair's eye, then quickly returned to stare at the dead factory.

"Kathy," Blair prodded gently, not knowing if it was best to scold the girl or be more lenient with her. Blair decided on the latter, assuming that Kathy already received enough punishment from her sister. Slowly, she put her hand on the small face, realizing with shock that the little doll-faced girl was crying. Yet, Kathy didn't try to wriggle out of Blair's touch.

"Kathy, you can't stay here. You and I will get in big trouble if your mother sees this … or your tattle-tale sister." The little girl gave Blair a crooked smile, and she almost wanted to congratulate herself for being better at this governess thing than she had expected.

"Yes, Miss Waldorf," a shy, timid voice replied. It took Blair a moment to realize that it was Kathy's. Blair didn't know why, but she thought she had never heard a sound that gave her as much pleasure or joy. She desperately racked her brain, trying to find a topic that would keep the girl talking. Kathy, however, was already disentangling herself from Blair, hurrying back towards the house. As Blair got up from the ground, letting her gaze glide across the icy façade of the mansion, her eyes caught a slight movement. Although she could detect nothing but an open upstairs window and a swinging curtain, she couldn't shake the feeling that she had been watched.

xxxxx

When Blair descended the grand stairs for dinner, still dressed in that abominable cheese-colored dress since she absolutely refused to appear like a common whore, she considered cornering Lady Baizen to ask about the key. Although Mr. Baizen had made it clear that a key was non-existent, Blair hoped he had only been toying with her. As she opened the door to the dining parlor, however, she was greeted by the candle-lit face of the Master standing by the windows; whether he was staring into the night at the abandoned mill or at his own reflection in the glass, Blair did not know. She was sure he must have noticed her entrance, but he gave no sign of recognition. Although she wanted to turn around and leave the room immediately, Blair chided herself for her fearful foolishness. She straightened her spine, took one step forward into the chilly room, and cleared her throat to force him to notice her. In his reflection she could see now that he was smirking, seemingly amused by her entrance. It dawned on her that he must have watched her whole struggle in the window-pane. Anger boiled inside her at the realization, and her fingers clenched to a fist in the fabric of her dress.

He turned to face her. "Miss Waldorf, would you be so good as to tell me if the flowers my wife has put on the table are dangerous for my children."

Blair's eyes flickered to a porcelain vase on the table, filled with delicate, white bell-shaped flowers. "I believe those are lily of the valleys, Mr. Baizen, and they can indeed be very poisonous if eaten, but I doubt that …"

"You are quite the little scholar, Miss Waldorf," he interrupted her, taking a large sip from a glass filled with crystal clear liquid. One could almost mistake it for water, but Blair smelled the alcoholic fumes wafting across the room.

He started towards her. "I see you are still wearing that unflattering gown my wife forced on you." He came to a halt only a few steps away from her, but Blair refused to flinch or evade his leering gaze.

"If you are nice to me, Miss Waldorf, I could be convinced to buy you some new gowns," he said, raising his hand to touch her.

"Don't be crude, Darling," Lady Baizen said snidely, entering the room. To Blair's relief, Mr. Baizen dropped his hand again, though he was not trying to hide his intentions from his wife. "Miss Waldorf will not need your assistance. In fact, just an hour ago, a dirty boy from town brought up some of your stolen dresses. Apparently, they have caught one of the culprits."

"I'm very happy to hear that, Lady Baizen," Blair said, joy washing through her. She would have to send Thomas a note since she was sure that he was to thank for this happy reunion.

"I would think you are," Lady Baizen gave her a knowing glance. "They seem to be quite expensive." She walked gracefully over to her seat, signaling her husband with a determined look to pull out her chair. "I think I liked the emerald green gown best, you know, the one with the embroidered bodice," she added almost as an afterthought.

Blair knew that the Lady was baiting her with this offensive intrusion upon her privacy, but she reminded herself that she still had a favor to ask of Lady Baizen later. Hence, Blair decided to swallow her pride and any vicious retorts that were stewing inside of her.

"Yes, Lady Baizen," she said calmly, taking her place at the table without waiting for the Master or a servant to pull out her chair.

The Lady frowned, her eyes flickering towards the empty chairs of the girls. "Miss Waldorf, would you be so kind as to tell me why my daughters are not ready for dinner," she asked with a chilly undertone.

"Oh, I'm sure they will be in soon. They really wanted to see how the food was prepared, so I sent them to the kitchen to watch the servants," Blair replied.

Although expecting that Lady Baizen would be less than pleased by her children associating with the help, Blair had to suppress a giggle as she watched the lady's face turn redder and redder, increasingly resembling a tea kettle ready to explode. Glancing over to Mr. Baizen, who stood next to his wife's chair, she saw that he had a hard time concealing his amusement as well.

Just as Lady Baizen had regained enough composure to open her mouth and say something, the door opened slowly, revealing Kathy carrying a steaming pot of potatoes. Carefully, she walked over to the table, eyes focused, balancing the heavy load on her small arms. As Blair leaned over to help her put the food on table, she saw that the little girl's eyes sparkled with pleasure. The tiniest of smiles played across her lips. As Blair looked back up, she saw that Lady Baizen had noticed the same. She stared almost incredulously at her child, whereas Mr. Baizen smirked proudly, apparently delighted with this new development. Lady Baizen moved slightly in her chair as if to stand up and gather her child in her arms. However, she sunk back on to her seat a few seconds later, the moment having passed. "Thank you, Kathy," she said instead, her voice quivering slightly.

Kathy smiled timidly at her mother across the table. "Yes, mother," she whispered. Immediately, Lady Baizen's eyes shot up to meet Blair's, giving her a shocked and questioning look. Blair just shrugged her shoulders, not knowing what to say.

"I think we have to keep Miss Waldorf a while longer, Darling," Mr. Baizen said, breaking the thick tension. "Why, in one day she has made more progress with Kathy than you in two years," he added with a wink at Blair, but she could tell that an indefinable emotion strangled his voice. When she raised her head to scrutinize his face, she noticed that he studied his daughter with a slight frown. Yet, as son as he felt her stare, his expression changed back to one of fatherly delight swiftly.

The door banged and Margaret stormed into the parlor, looking flushed. "Father, did you see what Kathy did," she wailed dramatically, "I wanted to stop her, but she stole the pot from the maid!" As she realized that no one in the room seemed to be angry at Kathy, she marched over to her sister's chair and slapped her. "Never do that again, Kathy," she hissed heatedly. Kathy, however, gave no reaction. Seemingly unfazed, she just dropped her head slightly, staring at her lap.

Before Blair could wrench the two girls apart, Mr. Baizen's arms had already caught Margaret around the waist, carrying her towards the door. The girl started to scream as if poked with a hot needle. Blair could hear her crying as her father took her down the hallway to another room. A door clapped, followed by an uneasy silence.

"Where did he take her?" Blair asked with a shaking voice. Instead of replying, Lady Baizen rose from her chair and walked over the spot at the window where her husband had been only fifteen minutes ago.

"Miss Waldorf, take Katherine upstairs to her bedroom. She will have no dinner tonight," she said quietly.

"But Kathy did not mean to –"

"You do as I say, or I will never give you that key to your room," she said, her eyes glinting at Blair in the glass of the window. "I know everything that is going on in this house, Miss Waldorf," she said, answering Blair's unspoken question.

Blair swallowed thickly. Deciding not to push her luck this evening, she held out her hand for Kathy to take. When the girl didn't react, still paralyzed by the earlier events, Blair tried to lift the child from her chair. Immediately, a sharp, slicing pain surged through her. Her hand shot out to steady herself on the table. To keep from crying out and drawing attention to her state, she bit her lower lip violently. Tentatively, Blair looked down her dress. To her relief, she could see no red specks forming on her gown. She exhaled loudly, causing Lady Baizen to throw her a questioning look. With effort Blair raised herself, one hand pressing down on her stomach to soothe the pain. A tiny hand slid into Blair's and she felt without looking down that Kathy would now follow her without resistance.

As Blair led the girl down the empty corridor, she heard a sickening sound from behind one of the closed doors. It reminded her of long-ago riding lessons and how the instructor had repeatedly cracked his whip on the horse to make it go faster. Kathy burrowed her head into Blair's dress, grasping her legs tightly. Blair put one hand on the door handle, contemplating whether it was wise to interfere. After all, she had no right to tell the parents how to treat or raise their children. Still, she pushed down the handle, determined to face whatever happened in this room – but the door was locked. How ironic, Blair thought, that she now wished more than anything for this door to be open and unlocked. She raised her hand again to knock sharply on the wood, but from the corner of her eye saw Lady Baizen's shadowy figure enter the hallway.

"I thought I had made myself clear, Miss Waldorf. There is nothing here for you to do," she said sharply.

Hesitatingly, Blair dropped her hand and turned to walk up the stairs. Unshed tears stung behind her eyes as she ushered Kathy to the upper landing. As soon as they entered her bedroom, Kathy jumped onto her large bed, which was covered with a thick pink bedspread. Blair was surprised that the only light in the room came from a white candle on a small bedside table. No other fire had been lit. The candle cast a weak halo on several medicine bottles. "Do you have to take all of these, Kathy?" She looked at the girl with concern and unease, scanning her body for any signs of a visible illness.

The girl shook her head slightly. "Just, when I have bad dreams," she replied in a low voice. "Father gives them to me."

Blair nodded, not knowing what to make of the information. She didn't trust Mr. Baizen and his constant teasing was more than tiresome, but she had not witnessed anything out of the ordinary in the interactions with his daughters. Surely, she abhorred that he was probably now beating his own child; still, she knew that this was not an uncommon parental practice. She didn't want to imagine what it was like for these little girls to be punished in this way by someone they looked up to and loved. She sighed and stroked Kathy's black curls gently. Despite his other failings, she was now happier than ever that her own father had always treated her with respect and tenderness.

"All right, little one, let's get you ready for bed," Blair said, opening the buttons on Kathy's yellow day dress. "Should I steal you and Margaret some food from the kitchen? I can't let you go to bed without something in your stomach."

Kathy shook her head again, fixing Blair with worrisome eyes. "The housekeeper won't allow it … We never eat after."

Blair's hands stilled untying the ribbons in Kathy's hair as she tried to wrap her head around what the little girl had just said. "Does your Father punish you often like this, Kathy?" she tried to prod cautiously.

"Only when we are naughty, Miss," the girl said timidly. Blair brushed out Kathy's hair reassuringly, trying to put her at ease. Both remained silent, the swishing sound of the soft brush the only noise in the room.

After Blair had helped Kathy with her nightgown and hair, she pulled back the heavy blanket, letting the girl slide under it. She smoothed her feathery hair once more, leaning down to place a slight kiss on the girl's cheek. Blair had no idea what had compelled her to do it, but she felt that she needed the human contact even more than the child. Kathy didn't pull away, just stared at Blair with her usual calm and inscrutable gaze. "Good night, Miss Waldorf," Kathy said before turning her head towards the window, away from Blair.

Blair blew out the candle, not knowing if she had done enough for the girl. She wondered if she should read her a story or sing a song, like her own governess had done countless times. Kathy, however, seemed to expect nothing from her, so Blair thought it best to leave her alone. "Good night, Miss Kathy," Blair said warmly as she closed the door. She didn't know whether it was a reassurance or an apology.

When Blair entered her bedroom, she noticed that compared to Kathy's room, a fire was crackling loudly, filling the room with a stifling heat. She crossed the length of the room quickly and drew the curtains aside hastily to open the windows. She breathed heavily, the thick air filling her lungs like lead. When the mild, dewy night air finally hit her face, she gasped loudly. She almost wanted to fetch a water bucket from the kitchen to kill the flames at once; then, she spotted a wooden trunk next to her bed. Blair went over and kneeled before it, opening the heavy lid with some effort. As soon as she spotted a beloved green fabric, she realized that she would never have to wear that mold-colored servant's dress again. She sighed happily, letting her fingers feel the resplendent emerald green silk. She lifted the dress gingerly, letting it unfold against her body. A small thud next to her interrupted her reverie. Apparently, some object had fallen from the dress when she had unpacked it. Due to the semidarkness in the room, she had to weave her fingers through the plush carpet in search of the mysterious artifact. Her thumb hit a cold, metallic surface. Enclosing the object with her fingers, Blair's eyes went wide with surprise. It couldn't be …. When she held it up to her face, she saw that a long silver-gleaming key rested between her fingers. For a second she wondered if it fell into the trunk by accident or if it had been placed there deliberately. Storing those thoughts away for later, she rose from her crouch on the floor and headed towards her bedroom door with large strides. Her right hand shook as she tried to wrench the key into the slim hole under the brass handle. She tried to turn the key, but it didn't move. Taking another deep breath, she tried to calm herself. She wriggled the key once more, struggling to force it deeper into the lock. Hearing a small popping sound, she turned the key again. Relief filled her as she felt the key move and the strong lock click into place. Exhaustedly, she leaned her head against the wood of the door, her fingers still clenched around her silver savior. Down the hallway she heard heavy steps ascending the stairs. Blair held her breath, not wanting to draw attention, but the noise seemed to have moved into the opposite direction of her room.

Feeling much safer now, she went back to inspect the contents of the trunk. To her delight, many of her favorite dresses appeared from the dark depths of the wooden box. She even found one of her plain cotton nightgowns and two white chemises. She pulled the twinkling, heavy gowns out like a child opening a present, letting them fall on the ground next to trunk without caring about the mess she created. Once in a while she got up, holding one of the dresses in front of her, twirling around the room. Blair felt absurd being so giddy about old dresses, but it comforted her to know that some part of her old self and life had been saved.

As she finally got to the bottom of the trunk, she spotted another piece of white fabric. She lifted the cotton cloth, unfolding it quickly. At first she didn't recognize the garment, but as it dawned on her, she let it fall to the ground as if made from nettles. It was another pair of cotton knickers, now lying in a heap on the ground. Blair knew with certainty that she never had had more than one pair in her wardrobe, so the specimen she just dropped must have been packed into her trunk by accident or, more likely, as a joke. She took up the garment with two fingers, not wanting to risk touching too much of it in case it was dirty. Blair decided that it almost looked freshly-bought, not being able to detect any offensive stains or smells. Throwing the knickers on to the carpet again, Blair leaned over to check the trunk for more suspicious items. However, the only thing left was a small slip of paper, folded messily in the middle. Blair reached down to retrieve the paper, unfolding it slowly in the dying light of the fire. Only a few lines were written on it in a sloppy but squiggly hand that Blair recognized easily.

_I heard you were in town. I work at the The Lion every night.  
Come and see me soon. Don't tell anyone._

_S._

Blair stared at the paper, different emotions warring inside of her. She traced the last letter with her index finger, thinking about how many times she had seen Serena write her signature like this on secret notes they used to pass each other in school. She remembered how the elderly French teacher had droned on about the right pronunciation of the word "attitude," while Serena had written down naughty French double entendres and wordplays. They had always made Blair giggle, earning her more than one stern stare from the teacher. Serena had never cared about that though. The same way she now seemed not to care that she was working in a seedy establishment as God knows what, or that she put Blair's reputation at risk by asking her to come. Blair missed her best friend more than anything and wanted nothing more than to take her into her arms and hug her tightly. Yet, she had no idea how she was supposed to sneak out of the house in the middle of night without being detected by any of the servants. For Serena everything just seemed so simple - no complications, no consequences, no indiscretions – just do.

Blair sighed, crumpling the paper in her hand. She walked over to the flickering fire, threw the paper into it and watched it being eaten by the blaze. Whatever she decided, she did not want the note to be found by anyone. Blair started to pace the room slowly, her thoughts swirling loudly in her head. Absentmindedly, her hand grazed the smooth wooden surfaces of the furniture. Her hand bumped into a rather large plate with dark red grapes laid out on it, gleaming beautifully in the light of the flames. Blair remembered that they had been on this dresser since yesterday, most likely an inappropriate gift from the Master. Since she did not want to eat them herself, another idea came to her mind.

Taking the plate, she tiptoed to the door, listening intently for any sounds from the corridor. After being incapable of hearing anything beside her rapid heartbeat and shallow breathing, she turned the key to unbolt the door. She pulled the key from its lock, slipping it into a side pocket in her dress. Now that she finally had the key, she would be damned if she'd risk someone stealing it again. Cracking the door open an inch, she tried to make out any unusual shapes in the lightless hallway. Detecting nothing, she slipped out quickly, shutting the door behind her soundlessly. For once, Blair was glad that this house was newly built, or else she would have had to deal with creaking doors and floor panels. She flitted down the hall, noticing that most candles on the upper landing had been extinguished. Downstairs, a lone candelabra illuminated the stairwell with a dim white light, casting long shadows creeping up the steps. Blair told herself that she wasn't doing anything wrong and hence had nothing to fear if caught; still, she couldn't quench the sensation that her quest was risky.

Blair stopped in front of Margaret's door, straining to hear any whispers coming from one of the other rooms. She could only make out a tiny whimper that rose and subsided unevenly. Before pushing down the door handle, she scanned the hallway for any signs of movement. Seeing nothing, she opened the door slightly, gliding like a ghost into the still fire-lit room. Shadows danced across the furniture and floor, mimicking the trembling flames. Blair saw Margaret lying on her stomach in a monstrous four poster bed on the far side of the room. She had her face burrowed into the pillows and was sobbing uncontrollably, desperately trying to stifle the sounds. Blair approached the bed slowly, sat down on the edge of the mattress and placed the grapes next to the child. Her hand moved to Margaret's head, stroking it gently. She still hadn't combed out her hair and was wearing a tight bun from earlier.

Margaret immediately stopped sobbing but did not raise her head to look at Blair. Calmly, Blair moved the white linen sheet covering Margaret's shoulders. Her eyes went wide for a moment as she saw that three bright red lines stained the girl's white nightgown on her backside. Blair now wished that she had brought more than just grapes. Tentatively, she tried to lift the gown to get a better look at the wounds, but withdrew her hands when Margaret winced heavily.

"I brought you something to eat, Margaret," Blair said instead.

Margaret turned her head slightly, glancing at the fruit and Blair. The expression on her face was unreadable, but Blair could tell from her puffy eyes that she must have been crying for a long time. Without eating or saying anything, Margaret turned her face back into the pillow. Blair felt for the second time today that she was out of her depth, like a helpless child rather than a governess. So she decided to do for Margaret what she had done for Kathy earlier, untying and unpinning her long black hair, brushing it out gently and soothingly. When she was done, Blair didn't know if the girl had fallen asleep or was just ignoring her. She got up from her place on the bed, grabbing a handful of grapes to take to Kathy's room. Suddenly, she heard a slight shuffle behind her. Turning her head, she saw that Margaret was now facing her, eyes open and fathomless. "Thank you," she murmured, barely moving her mouth. Blair gave her a genuine smile in return, nodding her head slightly to show that she had heard.

When she entered Kathy's room, she had to adjust to the utter darkness enclosing the space. The night was pierced by silvery moonlight, slicing through a wide crack in the curtains. It illuminated parts of the bed, but no matter how many times Blair blinked, she couldn't find Kathy's form under the blanket. Filled with panic, her eyes darted around the room.

"Kathy, where are you?" she hissed into the quietness.

Then, from the corner of her eye, she saw the window curtains move slightly, a black, girl-shaped shadow emerging from the night. Kathy's face was still hidden in the shades, but Blair knew she was looking at something in the gardens. Blair walked over quickly, almost tripping on her way to the window. When she had reached it, she drew the curtain back a little further to give herself a better view. However, all she could see were the sharp angles of the ruin, protruding menacingly into the sky.

"It's burning, they are burning," the girl whispered urgently beside Blair.

Blair kneeled down on the hard marble floor, grasping Kathy's limp arms to turn her away from the window. She cupped the little, white face in one hand, forcing Kathy to meet her eyes. Her skin was ice cold, making Blair wonder how long the child had been staring out into the sky. "Kathy, there is nothing out there. It was just a bad dream." Kathy's eyes were still unfocused, so Blair held up the grapes for her to see. "I brought you some grapes, little one. Maybe you will sleep better if you eat something."

Finally, Kathy's eyes cleared and she gently reached out her hand to take a grape. After plopping it in her mouth, she gave Blair a toothy smile, which she returned by nudging Kathy's nose playfully. Just like earlier in the evening Blair took Kathy by the hand, leading her to the bed and letting her climb in on her own. When the girl had settled in, she laid the remaining grapes on the pillow next to Kathy, urging her to stay in bed and sleep. Kathy nodded slightly, seemingly agreeing to Blair's conditions.

As soon as Blair had closed Kathy's door behind her a quietly as possible, she heard steps echoing through the entrance hall below. She froze, contemplating whether to hide in one of the girls' rooms or run down the corridor back to her own room. The person did not seem to be coming up the stairs, so Blair risked inching forward to where the stairs sloped down to the ground floor. Staying close to the wall, the shadows in the hallway obscuring her frame, she peeked around the corner, trying to catch a glimpse of the person below. She could hear the flames of the candelabra being extinguished, leaving the entrance hall to be illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the ceiling window. Finally, the person – a man – came into view. Blair tried to hold in her breath, but feared that the thudding of her heartbeat could be heard a mile away. The man stopped next to the front door, putting on black gloves that matched the coal tones of his trousers, coat and riding boots. For a moment, he looked up the stairs in Blair's direction and she could clearly make out the features of Mr. Baizen's face. He seemed to stare right at her, but eventually turned to open the door. Soon after he had closed it softly, she heard the hoofs of a horse galloping away from the house.

Blair exhaled sharply, still staring at the closed door. She wondered if he was riding to meet that other woman his wife had talked about this morning. It seemed to have been easy enough for him to leave the house without being bothered by servants. As she crept back to her room, locking the door once more, a gleam of hope rose in Blair that it might not prove to be so difficult to visit Serena after all.


	3. Painless Wounds

**AN: First, thank you all so much for you continued support and your lovely feedback!**  
**Second, there will be quite a lot of revelations in this chapter, which you might be surprised by or might not like. But I'll be happy to answer all questions you might have :)  
As always, much love to my beta Robin, who encourages me to think things through a little bit more.  
**

**III. Painless Wounds**

June 1799

Deep blue clouds crept across the brilliant, scorching sky. Swirls of white covered the horizon with hazy gauze. The air sizzled with dark electricity as Blair watched the scene unfold from the open drawing room window. She knew that a thunderstorm would come tonight; she could almost smell it in the atmosphere. And while Blair usually loved nothing more than a cleansing rainfall, washing away the muggy heat of the day, she wished for once that the clouds would disappear. After having spent over a month watching the Master sneak out of the house at night and return quietly in the early morning hours without being ambushed by nosy servants, Blair had decided that she would try her luck visiting Serena tonight. She knew that Mr. Baizen always left the mansion early on Thursday nights and didn't come back until 4 o'clock in the morning. Hopefully, that would give her enough time to find Serena at _The Lion _without running into him.

Throughout the last month she had made a conscious effort not be left alone with him in a room. Given his reputation and unwelcome advances, she wanted to avoid a compromising situation at all costs. Knowing that her every move was monitored by Lady Baizen and her unbearable maid, she had taken great care to carry out her duties with immaculate precision. Blair was aware that Lady Baizen would tolerate her as long as she made progress with the girls and did not romance her husband before her eyes.

Lady Baizen and the children had left the mansion this morning to visit the lady's sister in a nearby village. As they wouldn't return before tomorrow afternoon, Blair felt that this night would provide the best opportunity to escape the house unnoticed. There would be no risk of Kathy knocking on her door in the dark of night, as she had been wont to do during the last weeks, desiring to tell her the same gruesome dream over and over.

No one in the house had missed that Kathy had grown quite attached to Blair, opening up to her more and more each day. The parents' reaction had ranged from delight to deep frowns, whereas Margaret's mood could only be described as downright hostile. Blair had hoped to establish a respectful relationship with the girl after the 'grapes incident', but if anything Margaret seemed to have become more unwilling to obey her. Blair was certain that the feisty girl was scheming to have her kicked out, filling her with a weird sense of pride as she was reminded of her own childhood. However, she was frustrated that the reason behind the child's behavior evaded her.

"It's a beautiful day, isn't it," a dark familiar voice suddenly spoke next to her ear.

Blair's head swirled around quickly, meeting the penetrating eyes of Mr. Baizen. Deep in thought, she hadn't noticed or heard the door opening, so she wasn't prepared in any way for this new onslaught. She should have known that Mr. Baizen would use his wife's absence to accost her. Despite the unease quelling inside of her, she forced her head to turn back to the window, flexing her fingers nervously.

"If you haven't noticed Mr. Baizen, it is going to rain tonight," she replied in what she hoped was a disinterested tone.

"Is that so?" His hot breath hit her neck. "Maybe I should stay in tonight then." Blair felt a long, cold finger graze the exposed skin on her lower arm. Her mind was racing, trying to come up with an escape plan and block out the humiliation of his unwanted touch.

"Or I could take you to town," he said huskily, slowly moving to press his body closer to hers. "My wife told me that you have asked for her permission to go to town more than once. Maybe I could be of assistance … if you reward me for my troubles." His tone left no doubt as to what he was suggesting.

Blair considered agreeing to his proposition for a moment as she hadn't been allowed to leave the grounds since her arrival. Maybe he would even take her to _The Lion_ if she asked for it; and maybe once there she could find a way to meet Serena and evade him. She was aware that if she denied him now, he might try to force himself on her nonetheless. And even if she screamed for help, there was no guarantee that any servant would rescue her, perhaps having been ordered by their Master to ignore any odd noises coming from the drawing room. Her mind swirled, desperately weighing her options. His sturdy hand gripped her waist aggressively, wet lips descending on her neck. Her fingers tightened in her dress, feeling a long object in one of the pockets. She remembered that she always hid her key there. Slowly, she pulled it out from dress, clenching it tightly in her fist. Even if the key had no sharp edges, she hoped that it would hurt him enough to let go of her.

With a swift and forceful movement of her arm, she rammed the key into his loins, hearing him cry out immediately. She turned around swiftly, trying to twist out of his grasp. As she saw that he had doubled over next to her, breathing heavily, she hurriedly exited the room. She all but ran up the stairs to her room, locking the door with shaky fingers. With baited breath she waited for his steps in the hallway or his fists banging on the door; however, the house remained silent.

Trembling, she walked over to her dressing room. Refusing to look at herself in the mirror, she wetted a towel, scrubbing her neck and arms furiously. She only stopped when her skin started to burn and had turned a heavy shade of red. Still feeling filthy, she rushed to dispose of her blue muslin gown, almost screaming with desperation when she couldn't open the buttons quickly enough. Due to her hasty movements, she felt the skin around the wound on her stomach stretch painfully, leaving her worrying once more about the slow healing process.

As the offending garment finally pooled at her feet, she stormed towards her wardrobe, pulling out a black, long-sleeved gown roughly. Dressing herself, she breathed raggedly, feeling the room spin around her. She staggered towards the open window, drawing a deep breath of the rich evening air into her lungs. The heady smell of freshly-cut grass and blooming lilacs enlivened her senses, bringing back memories from her childhood as she lay in the grass with Serena, braiding necklaces with dandelions.

Blair heard the front door slam into its frame heavily, causing her to wince. A few moments later she saw Mr. Baizen leave the grounds on his white horse, presumably riding to town like every night. She sighed with relief at the realization that she would still be able to carry out her plan to visit Serena tonight. She only had to wait till the sun went down completely and the servants had retired to their chambers before she could attempt to leave the house.

Anxiously, Blair stood frozen before the windows, watching the last drops of light fade behind the horizon and looming rain clouds. It seemed as if they hadn't moved at all and were just lying in wait for Blair so that they could make this as difficult for her as possible.

When the house had finally quieted down and the constant movement of feet in the hallways had stopped, Blair pulled her dark traveling cloak over her dress and hair, hoping to blend into the night seamlessly. Carefully, she unlocked the door and peered into the hall, searching for suspicious movements or shapes. She could easily imagine Vanessa wandering the house like a watchdog when her Mistress was gone. A smile crept onto her face at the image.

As the house remained silent, she slipped outside her door, locking it to avoid the discovery of her absence. Gliding along the shadowy walls and down the winding stairs, she was grateful that the moon was hiding behind clouds tonight, allowing her to sink deeper into the darkness. Arriving at the front door, she turned the knob slowly, only to realize that it had been locked. Her eyes darted nervously around the entrance hall, trying to find another escape route. With horror she noticed, that a blurry light was advancing towards the upper landing of the stairwell from the right corridor. As quietly as possible, she ran across the foyer towards the swinging kitchen door. Dainty steps reverberated in the marble hall behind her as she entered the cooking area. Immediately, she spotted the small passage leading to the garden that served as a servants' entrance. She unbolted the door hastily, hoping that no one would slide the bolt back into place until she returned. Once outside, she ducked behind the high hedge row lining the garden so as to remain hidden. Knowing that the main road could be seen from the windows, she ran until she was certain that the slope of the hill would swallow her frame completely. A strong but warm wind blew up from the valley as she continued to walk down the path in a hurried pace. Her eyes watered as strong gusts of air hit her face viciously. She tried to pull down the hood of her cloak forcefully, her stomach burning agonizingly from the exertion.

As she finally reached town, she was painfully aware that her hair, despite her best efforts, must be in a terrible state of disarray. Her hands attempted to wipe the unwanted tears from her eyes, after having tried in vain to smooth down her locks. In the end she decided that it would be best to keep the hood on, both for the sake of her appearance and for remaining incognito.

Owing to the heavy wind the thick industrial smoke was almost absent tonight, which made it easy for Blair to recognize the streets that would lead her to _The Lion_. Only a few people wandered the murky alleyways, but Blair felt as if they were watching her every move, ready to pounce on her if she took a wrong turn. When she spotted the brightly-lit windows of the tavern, she almost sprinted across the deserted town square. To her surprise, the bar was completely empty when she entered, not even the old barkeeper was to be seen.

"Hello?" Blair asked into the room timidly. "Is someone here?"

A shadow emerged from the door next to the bar, and Blair noticed with relief that it was Thomas. Apparently, she had disturbed him cleaning something, since a dirty rag hung across his left shoulder and his pale face glistened with sweat.

"Miss, you shouldn't be here," he said with apprehension, but not coming closer.

"I'm here to see Serena," she said determinedly, "she send me a message, asking me to come."

He raised his eyebrows in astonishment, but his eyes were clouded with fear. "It is dangerous, Miss. Mr. Baizen is here."

"I know," she said, watching his surprise. "I still want to see her."

He sighed audibly. "I'll fetch Martha. Stay here please, Miss."

She wanted to ask him who Martha was, but he had already disappeared through the door behind him. She studied the room closely, her eyes drawn to the sign "Gentlemen only" and the passage below it, covered by a red velvet curtain. She itched to walk closer and draw the curtains back, to see if she could hear what was going on behind that door.

Suddenly, the same door opened and a short, chubby woman appeared. For a short moment Blair heard a loud cacophony of voices and piano music, squeezing itself through the opening. Renewed silence fell across the room when the lady shut the door tightly behind her, scrutinizing Blair's appearance deliberately. Her severe gaze made Blair feel uncomfortable, but she chose to retaliate the woman's impertinence by letting her eyes wander across her less than modest dress in a similar fashion. Blair curled her lips in disapproval as she took in the lady's plunging neckline, revealing her ample bosom, and the fire red color of her gown. Instead of being offended, the woman seemed to take Blair's disgust as a compliment, a knowing smile stretching her lips.

"My husband has done you a disservice, Miss. You are far prettier than he said." Her voice was low and velvety, as if she just had awoken from a long slumber. Blair didn't know why, but it soothed her, like her mother's had when she was still a child.

"You'd be perfect for one of our patrons … just what he likes. I could introduce you –"

"I'm not interested in working for you, Madam," Blair interrupted her quickly before she would be dragged into the back room and sold to the highest bidder. "I'm here to see Serena."

The lady nodded slightly. "You shouldn't have come here, lass," she said almost patronizingly. "But I will take you to her room."

"Thank you," Blair said with relief as she had expected it to be much harder to see her friend.

"Just don't stay too long. Serena still has to work tonight." The woman moved towards the door that Thomas had disappeared through earlier. Apparently noticing Blair's bewildered look to the curtained door, she gestured her to follow with impatient movements. "I'm not taking you through there, honey. And I suggest that you don't let Serena take you there either if you want to keep your faith in humankind … or men."

Blair's eyes widened, but she decided to trust the lady and follow her. She led her through a messy storage room, filled with stacked wooden boxes and empty, foul-smelling bottles. They walked up a narrow flight of stairs to a long, windowless hallway. Several sconces adorned the purple wallpapered corridor, giving it the appearance of the inside of a human mouth.

"It is the second room to the right," the portly woman said, all but shoving Blair in the direction. "Don't stay too long!" She quickly disappeared down the stairs they had just come up.

From the other end of the hallway, Blair heard a low murmur of voices, and she wondered if it would lead directly to the rooms that the Madame had just denied showing her. Again she felt an urge to explore those forbidden parts, wanting more than anything to satisfy her curiosity.

A door next to her swung open and a mass of blonde hair suddenly smothered her face, long arms coming around her to pull her into a tight hug. "Blair," an exuberant voice squealed next to her ear. Blair returned her friend's affections reluctantly, slowly inhaling Serena's signature perfume, a scent of summer days long gone by.

Serena moved to look at Blair's face, reaching up one hand to unfasten the hood and smooth down her hair affectionately, her eyes twinkling joyfully. With relief Blair noticed that Serena hadn't changed at all since she had last seen her; she still appeared to be the same vivacious, fearless young woman.

Blair let herself be pulled into Serena's dimly-lit room, which was surprisingly well-furnished. Blushing, she realized that a large bed dominated the chamber, and she commanded her mind not to think about what might happen there – and with whom. Gently, Serena pushed Blair down onto a soft, luxurious settee next to a small fireplace. Blair folded her hands into her lap to keep from fussing, deciding to stare into the fire instead of meeting Serena's gaze. She felt her friend plop down next to her, but Blair was at a loss at what to say. There was so much to tell; yet, the words eluded her.

She heard Serena sigh deeply. "Blair?" she prodded gently.

As Blair didn't respond, she tried again with forced cheerfulness, "I hear you are a governess now?"

"I hear you are a whore now," Blair snapped. She didn't have to turn to know that she had hurt Serena. The silence stretching between them now was deafening.

"I'm sorry," Blair attempted to backpedal, glancing at her friend from the corner of her eye. "I'm just worried about you, Serena. And I'm angry at you because I needed you … and you left me alone to become this?" Blair said, her voice growing increasingly agitated and accusing.

"What happened to you?" Serena asked in a concerned tone. Blair still refused to look at her for fear of either bursting into tears or slapping the blonde girl.

Blair took a deep breath, not knowing if she wanted her friend to know everything. Yet, on the other hand, she had yearned for some sort of compassion and empathy ever since she left Hampshire.

"I lost it," she blurted out without thinking. She felt Serena move and reach over to wrench her hands apart, covering one with hers. Blair hadn't even noticed how hard she had dug her nails into her skin until she saw the crescent red shapes on the back of her right hand.

She took another deep breath, not wanting to stop now. "And because of that, he abandoned me." Blair felt like it wasn't her telling the miserable story of her life, but someone who had taken over her body and voice. Yet, she was aware that Serena had pulled her head against her shoulder, stroking her hair softly. She could feel Serena's shoulders and fingers tremble slightly, as if in great pain.

"He abandoned you because you lost the child?" she asked with a shaky voice, almost sounding incredulous. "But you might yet still have another one."

Blair shook her head slightly. "They had to cut me up wanting to save the baby." She heard Serena gasp, imagining that her friend's face would be contorted with shock and disgust.

Blair swallowed tightly, willing herself to continue. "They only did it because they thought I was near death," she let out a small, bitter laugh, "but it was already too late."

Leaden silence filled the room as an unspoken question hung between them. "It was a girl," Blair said in a detached voice, "but I never got to see her."

"How did you survive?" Serena's voice was barely above a whisper now.

"Apparently, I have a strong constitution," she replied wryly, "and since I wasn't dead after they had taken out the child, the doctor's were kind enough to sow me back together. At least that's what they told me when I woke up." Blair felt Serena wince at her words.

"They also informed me that I wouldn't be able to have any more children." A numbing emptiness spread inside of her as she finally admitted her failure out loud.

Serena's hand stilled its soothing movements on her head. "That's why he left you?" Her voice sounded so desperate and full of anguish that Blair wished she could offer some solace to her friend. Although Serena had always been more knowledgeable in the realm of men, she was still very innocent in others.

"At the beginning I thought that he might return to me, that he was just as scared as I was," Blair said shakily, "but then his mother paid me a visit, telling me in no uncertain terms that her son was seeking a permanent legal separation from me as I would no longer be able to produce an heir."

"A divorce?" Serena asked weakly as if her whole world had been crushed to pieces. "But you are no adulteress," she added, seemingly believing that this fact alone would provide the solution to all of Blair's troubles.

Blair closed her eyes tightly as tears threatened to fall, concentrating on the uneven rise and fall of Serena's shoulder. "You know they have the means and the connections, S. They will do whatever it takes to secure their legacy."

Serena let out a quiet scoff. "I thought he truly cared for you."

Blair tried to fight the tears quelling behind her lids, a sad smile playing across her lips as she thought of her wedding day. It had been a lovely early summer's day, everything gleaming in bright and rich colors. She still remembered herself dancing, her magnificent wedding dress swirling around her, her husband's eyes twinkling merrily. It had been one of the most wonderful days in her life, but now it had faded to nothing more than a painful remembrance of what she once were and what she had lost. Wet patches started to form on her cheek, but she couldn't tell if it were her own tears or Serena's.

She didn't know how long she and Serena sat in this way or how long she stared into the fire mindlessly, but after a while a slight push nudged her shoulder, prompting her to sit up. Blair obliged, but kept her eyes on the flames. A warm hand grasped her chin, turning her face with gentle strength. When Blair finally looked up into Serena's eyes, she saw that they were swimming with sadness, dried tears having already carved a path along her smooth face. Serena tried to stretch her lips into a reassuring smile, but Blair knew that her friend had never been a good actress.

"Don't you dare feel sorry for me," Blair commanded, grasping Serena's hand on her face tightly.

Serena let out a small laugh, leaning in to kiss Blair's forehead tenderly. "I wouldn't dream of it, B." Her eyes sparkled with humor for a moment before turning serious again.

"I'm so sorry, Blair, if I had known he would be capable of that … if I had known …"

"You would have done what, Serena?" Blair retorted acidly, twisting away from her friend's touch once more. "Would you have saved me the humiliation of getting left by my husband without a word or a letter? Would you have spared me the pain of being shunned by my own parents?"

Serena remained silent for a moment, clearly not knowing what to say or how to make things right. "I could have helped you," she tried.

"You mean help me to become a harlot, S., like you?" Blair laughed humorlessly.

"It isn't like that, Blair," Serena said, her voice laced with anger but her eyes still compassionate.

"So, you are not a whore then, S.?" Blair scoffed, daring Serena to disagree.

Serena's blue eyes met Blair's decidedly, willing her to listen. "Blair, I know you won't understand me, but I like this life that I'm living here. My mother has no control over me here and I finally feel … free. Can't you try to understand that?"

"No, I don't understand how you can call it freedom when you are selling you body to filthy men."

"It is not much worse than being chained to a husband who won't let you leave the house and eventually will betray you. At least the men here are honest about what they want," Serena snarled.

Quickly, Blair rose from the settee, turning away from Serena to hide how much that last remark had stung. She didn't have to wait long until slender arms wrapped around her body from behind, a pointed chin resting on her shoulder. She knew that Serena couldn't stand them being at odds for very long and was always the one to make the first move towards reconciliation. Sometimes Blair envied how her friend could overcome her pride so effortlessly, but with Serena giving in so easily, she never had to try it herself.

"It's not as horrible here as you imagine it to be." Blair felt Serena's mouth move next to her cheek, her breath tickling the hair on her neck.

"The girls here can choose the man they want, and once we pick them they can't have relations with any other girl here and we with any other men."

"It's almost like a marriage then," Blair said cheekily. A smile creeping on to her lips as she heard Serena's exasperated huff.

"Seriously, B., Arthur and Martha treat us girls like family. Every girl gets equal pay each month. We are not allowed to take money from our patrons. They have to pay a high entrance fee and all the drinks," Serena rattled on almost fondly.

"Do the gentlemen get a say in this? Or will they be dragged into some girl's room with a pistol to their head?"

Serena laughed loudly, and Blair couldn't help but chuckle along at the absurdity of it all. Affectionately, she covered Serena's hands on her belly with her own and leaned into her embrace.

"B., you have to promise me that you won't tell my mother where I am," Serena pleaded gently.

"Are you really happier here?" Blair knew that Lily had all the means to let this part of Serena's history disappear if she decided to come home; so she needed to know that Serena truly wanted this sort of existence.

"I am," Serena said with sincerity. Uncomfortable quietness filled the room as Blair tried to digest her friend's decision.

"Do you have a patron?" Blair finally asked, curiosity rising inside of her.

"Oh yes, B.," Serena said happily. "He has been my patron since I came here. I don't know his name of course, since we mustn't exchange names, but he is very handsome and charming."

"Are you not afraid of meeting him in the streets with his wife?" Blair wondered.

"No," Serena answered almost too quickly. "We never talk about his private life, Blair. So I don't really care what his life is like outside of this room. I just can't."

Slowly, Blair turned in Serena's arms. "I'm sorry about what I said earlier," Blair said, feeling ashamed. "You don't know how much I missed you, S."

Serena pulled her into a firm hug. "I missed you too, B."

Suddenly, Serena pulled away, her face lit up with excitement. "I know you won't believe me unless you have seen the whole club … so I will show it to you."

Blair felt like a bucket of cold water had been emptied above her. "No, no, no, your Madame has strictly forbidden me to go there. I should go home, Serena," she all but pleaded.

"Nonsense, you can't go outside in that weather anyway," Serena said, gesturing towards the roof. "Can't you hear the rain?"

Thunderstruck, Blair ran to window, opening it hastily. She held out her hand to see if Serena was only toying with her, but with a sinking heart she noticed how thick raindrops wetted her skin. In the distance lightning split the night forcefully. With a sigh, Blair closed the window and turned back to Serena.

"I will stay in your room until it is over, S. You know I can't be seen downstairs. I still need my reputation," Blair said determinedly, hoping to convince her friend.

However, Serena ignored Blair's jab and sour expression, pulling her towards a large yellow-painted wardrobe.

"I know all of that, but I also know that you need to loosen up a bit and enjoy yourself for once," Serena said while ruffling through her dresses and undergarments. Blair almost blushed as she caught a glimpse of various silk and lace chemises in the most provocative of colors.

As Blair took a deep breath to try and convince Serena that she knew very well how to have fun, she was interrupted by a dark shadow waggling in front of her eyes. Blair had to take a step back to see that Serena was holding up a black satin mask.

"This will go perfectly with the dress you are wearing. You'll look so mysterious, B." Serena stated with glee, unfastening Blair's heavy cloak and opening the two upper buttons on her dress. Blair's hands immediately went up to cover herself, throwing the blonde a murderous glare.

"Relax B., one can barely see your collarbone. Stop being such a baby. Everyone should see how beautiful you are," Serena said, grasping Blair's hands to keep her from fidgeting with her dress.

Blair gave her a slight smile in return. "All right then, let me see how I look with that mask." Swiftly, Serena fastened the silky material behind her head. Too late Blair realized that Serena was also pulling out her hairpins, letting her heavy waves fall down her back. "Serena, what are you –"

"Shush, you'll see in a moment," Serena said, moving Blair in front of a large mirror across from the bed. Blair could barely recognize her reflection, the mask hiding everything but her pale lips, casting a deep shadow over her eyes so that they looked almost black. The dark mass of her hair contrasted painfully with the flecks of white skin, and Blair didn't understand why Serena beamed at her proudly. Now she wished more than anything to just go back to the mansion and lay down in her bed.

"All the gentlemen will want to take you to bed tonight." Serena chirped. Under her mask, Blair felt heat rise to her cheeks, hoping that her friend wouldn't notice her discomfort.

"Serena, I'm really not sure this is a good idea," Blair tried to reason one last time. "Besides, I think I feel a headache coming on."

"Blair Cornelia Waldorf," Serena said in a stern tone, turning Blair around so she would look her in the eyes. "You should know by now that I know all of your petty excuses." They stared at each other, neither one looking away, until Blair felt Serena's hand pulling her towards the door. She didn't put up much of a fight since she was indeed rather curious to see the debauchery downstairs, and she suspected that Serena knew it as well.

"Aren't you going to change your dress?" Blair asked as she was dragged down the purple corridor towards a staircase on the far end.

"No, this is my dress, B."

Blair's eyes widened. "But it is nothing more than a fancy undergarment."

Serena stopped immediately, turning to Blair with an impatient look. "Do you want to do this or not?"

Blair swallowed, already feeling the heavy murmur of voices from the lower floor reverberating through her body. She nodded imperceptibly, almost wishing Serena would miss it. However, her blonde friend quickly led her down the stairs to another red velvet curtain. She pushed it aside, revealing a dim, smoky room. Tobacco fumes filled Blair's nose, causing her to cough loudly. Luckily, the heavy piano music from before was still playing, so that no one had heard her except Serena. "You'll get used to it," she said, drawing Blair further into the room. Desperately, Blair attempted to adjust her eyes to the biting air, only being able to recognize moving shapes.

Moving deeper into the haze, a swirl of whispers and laughs hit her ears, glasses clinking, corks popping, dresses swishing. The atmosphere was thrumming with luxuriant perfumes and sensuous promises, and Blair wanted nothing more than to run outside and fill her lungs with crisp, clear air. She had no idea how Serena could work in such an establishment without choking.

Her feet hit a hard object, firm hands pushing her down onto a plush surface that appeared to be a large sofa. "Stay here," she heard Serena say. "I will try to find my beau so I can introduce you to him."

Blair grasped Serena's hand tightly, keeping her from leaving. However, Serena just loosened the iron grip tenderly. "Relax. Just try to enjoy yourself." Blair felt the warm flurry of wind as her friend moved away from her.

Once more, Blair tried to adjust her eyes to the environment, attempting to pierce the smoke and noise. Her gaze scanned the room nervously, hoping that no one would take a fancy to her. She was resolved to remain on this sofa until Serena returned, drawing as little attention to herself as possible.

Through the dimness she could now make out several sofas like hers, grouped around oval tables that were covered with large, red candles, various bottles and glasses. Dark silhouettes moved on the settees, entwined in inappropriate embraces. The music crescendoed in waves through the room and its occupants, giving Blair a tingling, warm sensation in her lower belly.

"You are new," a deep, guttural voice said close to her left ear. Blair's head swiveled around sharply, her eyes focusing on a dark-haired man sitting next to her on the sofa. She wondered if he had been there all this time or if he had just sat down. Instinctively, she tried to move a few inches away from him, afraid that he would mistake her for a whore and decide to take liberties with her.

She turned her face away from him, determined to ignore his advances. Yet, instead of leaving her alone like any decent gentlemen would do after having been slighted, he remained present. She shifted to rise from the sofa in order to find another vacant seat.

"Stay, please." Although worded as a plea his voice had a commanding tone. "You don't have to talk if you don't want to; I'd just like to have some company."

Blair settled back into the plush seats with hesitation, glancing at him pointedly. Even in this gloomy setting, she could see that he had a handsome albeit unusual face, marked by acute angles and dark eyes. He was staring at a point in the distance, and she was almost offended that he didn't even deign to look at her. She huffed slightly and noticed that he smirked, although his gaze remained fixed. Her eyes wandered down his lean body, admiring his impeccably tailored white shirt and black vest. He had apparently dispensed of his waistcoat and necktie due to the stifling heat in the room, revealing a sliver of skin just below his throat that Blair's eyes were drawn to involuntarily.

"Do you like what you see?" he asked in a raw but teasing voice. Blair felt herself blush deeply, looking up to meet his gaze in embarrassment. However, he was still staring ahead, his eyes hidden behind thick lashes.

Blair's observation was interrupted by Serena's cheery voice. "There you are! I quite forgot where I left you."

Blair turned her head up to face Serena, but froze immediately when she saw Mr. Baizen standing next to her friend, his arm wound around her waist, his lips kissing Serena's long neck. A cold shiver ran down Blair's spine and she gripped the velvety fabric beneath her hands tensely. She noticed that the man beside her had shifted, but the only thing her mind cared about now was fleeing. However, before she could disappear into a dusky corner of the room, Mr. Baizen had lifted his head from Serena's throat and was studying her intently, his gaze lingering on the skin revealed by the open buttons on her dress. "It's a pleasure to meet you," he finally addressed her.

Blair just nodded tautly, not even finding the strength to smile. She hoped that the mask and the darkness would conceal enough of her features to be unrecognizable to him.

"Is your new friend mute, Beautiful?" Mr. Baizen asked Serena, while keeping his gaze on Blair. Serena shot her a questioning look, and Blair hoped that her friend would see the panic in her eyes despite the mask.

"It comes and goes," Serena answered uneasily, clearly not knowing what to say.

Suddenly, she felt a rough, warm hand cover her clenched fingers soothingly. She knew exactly whose hand it was; yet, she did not dare look at him as she wished not to draw attention to the intimate gesture.

"She is my companion for the night," the dark-haired man said sternly, "so I'd appreciate it if you could leave us alone."

"Of course," Mr. Baizen replied curtly. "Just make sure he doesn't want to hire you as his nurse afterward, Miss. You are far too pretty for that," he said with an all too familiar wink in Blair's direction.

Uncomfortably, Blair met Serena's astonished gaze. It didn't feel right to lie to her friend like this, but at the moment she wanted Mr. Baizen to disappear, no matter the cost. So she nodded emphatically, giving Serena a reassuring smile to let her know that she was all right.

Serena still looked puzzled but finally gave in. "Well, we'll go upstairs then," she said. "Will I see you soon?" she asked imploringly. Blair just nodded once more.

Relieved, Blair noticed that Mr. Baizen had buried his head in Serena's hair again, already tugging her towards the staircase.

Blair sighed heavily, her body trembling uncontrollably. With a jolt she became aware that the strange man was still holding her hand. She pulled it out quickly as if burned.

"Thank you," she said in a strangled voice, watching his mouth stretch into an amused grin.

"Ah, so you are not a mute after all," he said, turning towards her slightly, his gaze still unfocused. "If you want to thank me properly, I'd be very much obliged if you'd tell me what color your dress is."

A nervous laugh escaped Blair, her eyes searching his face in bewilderment. His tone was teasing, but his features serious. She could see that he was nervous because his left hand continued to twist a black cane into the wooden floor boards.

"Sir, surely you must see that my dress is black … even in this bad light," Blair said, tingeing her voice with annoyance so he would understand that she didn't appreciate his kind of humor.

"And what about your skin, my lady? You sound like an educated woman, so I assume you must be fairly pale, maybe even more so under your clothing?"

"How dare you –" Blair started, anger rising inside of her at this man's impertinence.

"I wish I could see you. You do smell heavenly, you know," he stated darkly, still not turning to face her. Blair almost wanted to yank his face around so he'd be forced to look her in the eye, but his words made her pause.

"You should learn to be more observant, Miss," he continued in a bored tone. "Surely, you must have noticed that I never look at you and that my cane is not only a vain indulgence. And surely, that gentleman's remarks about my health must have given you a hint."

He finally turned his head to look at her. His eyes were clear and deep, but sharp tenderness rushed through her as she realized that they were also unmoving and emotionless. He was blind.

Blair swallowed thickly, not knowing what to say. She noticed that his knuckles had turned white as he gripped the top of his cane stiffly; so she cleared her throat loudly, letting him know that she was not yet gone despite her silence.

She inhaled deeply. "I have dark, brown hair that falls to the middle of my back," she said in an uncertain voice.

He gave her small smile, barely crinkling his lips; and for some reason it made her sad that he wouldn't know that she had smiled in return.

"What does it feel like … your hair? I need more details to actually picture it," he said wryly.

Blair raised her hand, running her fingers trough the long strands, trying to find the right words to describe it. "It is soft, I guess," she said with an apologetic laugh.

Her gaze dropped to his hand still resting on the sofa and a bold idea bloomed in her head. She didn't know if it was the heedless atmosphere or the fact that he could not actually see her, but she slowly covered his hand with her petite fingers, lifting it to her dark locks.

A sense of power filled her as she took in his surprised face. "Touch it," she said quietly, pressing down on his fingers until they enclosed her hair. Carefully, he let it slide over his skin, twining a curl around his fingers.

"It is soft," he said with a strange edge to his voice.

Blair took his hand again calmly, her fingers drawing small circles on his coarse skin. She wondered if he was a farmer, but quickly dismissed the thought as she considered that a peasant could certainly never afford the entrance to such an establishment.

She grasped his wrist, lifting it to her face, letting his fingertips graze her satin-covered cheekbones and nose. He drew in a small breath and closed his eyes. His left hand seemed to clutch his walking stick painfully, but his face looked almost peaceful.

Emboldened by his response, she drew his fingers across her plump lips, reveling in the feeling of the rough surface of his hand against her tender skin. She sensed how his fingers twitched slightly; his own lips pressed into a thin line.

She moved his fingers down her throat until they hit the slope of her collarbone. She let his hand linger there for a moment, watching his face intently, his eyes still tightly shut.

Slowly, she maneuvered his hand towards its former place on the sofa. His eyelids flickered open and she marveled at their newly acquired intensity. He seemed to stare right at her, drinking her in, but she knew that his direct gaze could only be a mere coincidence.

A warm sensation spread through her at the thought of what she had just done; she swept the room hastily to see if anyone had noticed. However, none of the other guests was even looking in her direction. As her gaze hit the red curtain at the staircase, she saw Mr. Baizen emerging, straightening his rumpled clothes. Burning panic rose in her at the thought that he might come over and talk to her again.

Swiftly, she rose from her seat. Confusion clouded the dark-haired gentleman face as he noticed her abrupt movement.

"I have to go," she said, answering his unspoken question, already stepping away from him.

Before he could say anything, she was weaving her way through the maze of drunken couples and tables, making sure to stay away from the stairwell where she had seen Mr. Baizen.

As she reached the door that would take her back to the bar room, she glanced behind her to ensure that no one was following her. For a quick moment, she tried to catch another glimpse of the mysterious, somber gentleman. However, if he was there, his shape was swallowed by the murky sea of dark shadows and heavy smoke.

She slipped out of the room, hastily making her way towards the front entrance of the bar. Finally outside, she took a deep breath to calm herself. She tore the silky mask from her face and shoved it into a pocket in her dress.

To her dismay it was still raining, heavy drops hitting the cobblestones on the street soundly. Water soaked through the thin fabric of her dress as Blair realized that she had forgotten her coat in Serena's room. She turned her head up towards the golden light in the windows, contemplating whether she should go back inside. The thought of running into Mr. Baizen, however, caused her to cross her arms over her chest tightly and hasten through the empty streets of the town. Occasionally, she stopped, listening for the sound of hoofs, fearing that Mr. Baizen would overturn her. Yet, the only noise she could hear was the splashing beneath her shoes and the violent dripping from various roofs.

As Blair finally reached the mansion, gleaming silvery beneath the dark silhouettes of the clouds, her hair was running down her face in wet streaks. Her gown clung to her body uncomfortably, her skin feeling cold and damp. As fast as she could she made her way to the house's back entrance through which she had left a few hours ago. Holding her breath, she turned the door knob, hoping no one had bolted it from inside. Luckily, the door opened easily. Blair slid inside silently, taking off her soaked shoes so that her steps wouldn't be heard on the hard marble.

After entering and relocking her bedroom, she rushed to take off her soggy clothes and undergarments, hanging them up to dry on the back of a chair before the flickering fire. Dressing in a comfortably dry nightgown, she all but jumped into the bed, pulling the covers up to her neck. She shivered deeply, trying to lull herself to sleep by listening to the rain hitting the ground outside. However, her thoughts still clung to the strange man she had met tonight. Warmth rushed through her body as she remembered the rough texture of his fingers caressing her lips. Blair turned her head into the thick pillow, moaning with irritation, trying to ban the image from her mind.

Suddenly, a creaking noise from the direction of the door stilled her breathing. She raised her head quietly, hoping that it was only the wind.

Her heart started to beat faster when she saw that the door handle was being pushed down by someone. She knew that she had locked the room, but her eyes darted around the large space searching for a weapon. Next to the fireplace, an iron poker glimmered invitingly. She jumped out of bed quickly, reaching for the heavy utensil.

As the door wouldn't budge, the person on the other side seemed to let go of the handle. Blair clutched the cold iron tightly, her muscles stiff with tension.

A hard object slammed into the door, causing Blair to wince. She feared that the wood would splinter at any moment, but the door just reverberated soundly in its frame.

Blair strained to hear if the person was still in the hallway, but her shallow breathing seemed to drown out every other noise.

She didn't know how long she stood frozen in this place, her fingers still clinging to the poker feverishly. Yet, as coldness started to creep up her toes and her legs, she decided that she could watch the door from her bed just as well.

She crawled back under the thick blankets, laying the iron rod beside her on the bed so she could easily reach for it if necessary. She propped herself up against the pillow and stared apprehensively at the door as if it would try to attack her. After a short while, her eyes drifted shut with exhaustion, her thoughts whirling with foggy visions of fathomless eyes and twisting canes.


	4. Scarlet Clover

**AN: It took me longer than expected to write this chapter, but let me assure all of you that I won't abandon this story; I'm just a very slow writer. :) Also, because I have been asked a few times, I can assure you that this story will definitely have a Happy Ending for C/B. **

**Much love to my awesome beta Robin, who took the time to edit this despite having a rather stressful week, and to all those who have read and reviewed. You are all very much appreciated. Also, a big thanks to Tati for her love for this story and her obnoxiousness ;). And last, but not least,** **thanks to sk280 for her lovely message.**

**IV. Scarlet Clover**

As Blair awoke the next morning, a dim yellow light fought its way through a crack in the bulky curtains. She heard the clear sounds of several birds outside her windows, muffled slightly by the thick velvety fabric. Since no footsteps or rattling dishes could be heard, she surmised that it must still be early. Blair tried to stretch her stiff limbs carefully, which were still sore from last night's long and cold walk back home. Her left arm hit a hard, cold object, and she jumped a little at the unexpected sensation. As she turned her head to look at the item, the events of the night splashed down on her like an icy bucket of water. Crisp memories of iron rods, moving door handles and twisting canes swamped her head. She closed her eyes once more to clear her thoughts; however, dark, fathomless eyes gazed at her from behind her eyelids.

Swiftly, she scrambled out of bed to draw the curtains and open the windows. A clean, cool breeze filled the stuffy room and her lungs. Timid sunrays were only just beginning to appear at the horizon, the grass in the orchard still dark and glistening from the night's rain. The old mill, despite being bathed in the awakening light of the day, refused to appear anything but gloomy. Black sooty lines ran down the remaining walls, the roof slashed open like a mangled carcass.

Again she felt the deep urge to explore the fallen structures and their secrets. Realizing that most servants were still asleep and that the Master would probably not be up before noon, she quickly rushed to her dressing room to comb out her hair and twist it into a tight bun at her neck.

Hastily, she gathered her corset from the chair where she had hung it to dry and tried to tie it around her body. When she pulled the strings tighter, a slow, burning pain spread from her stomach to her chest, making it hard to breathe for a moment. Blair gritted her teeth heavily, letting the pain ebb away from her in uneven tides. She knew that the corset and the heavy fabric of her dresses were slowing the healing process, but she feared that without them she would break apart at the gashing fissure in her body. Carefully, she slid into a plain blue linen dress, hissing through her teeth as she bent down to button her shoes.

After returning the iron rod from her bed to its place next to the mantelpiece, she retrieved the room key from its hiding spot under her mattress. Before opening the door, she listened intently for any sounds coming from the corridor. She just hoped that Mr. Baizen hadn't fallen asleep on her threshold last night. Cracking the door open slightly, her gaze swept the carpeted floor for any signs of a body. As everything appeared to be quiet and peaceful, she hastily made her way past Mr. Baizen's room towards the blinding white staircase. She took two steps at a time, almost losing her balance when a creaking noise behind her made her turn her head. Yet, as no steps approached, she continued her way to the back entrance in the kitchen, which had served her so well the night before.

Opening the small door, a light breeze moved the skirt of her dress. Standing within the light of the still pale, red-tinged sun, smelling the sparkling air and damp earth, she felt as free and alive as she hadn't in a very long time. A small smile flitted across her face as she walked across the dewy grass to the looming remains of the mill, which appeared to be less threatening the closer the stepped.

She entered the rotten building cautiously through the blackened frames of what had once been a door, the stinging smell of stale smoke rising to her nostrils. The ground was covered with charred wood and splintered glass, the remaining façade crumbling under the pressure of the elements. Mossy grass had already begun to smother the grey stones, forlorn dandelions twinkling among the piles of dusty rubble. Absentmindedly, she ran her hand along the low walls as she moved through the silent space, feeling her fingers disturb the thick layers of grime. Her feet tripped over a soft object, causing her to look down. A deep feeling of sadness and horror surged through her as she recognized a singed leather shoe on the ground, two large dung beetles scurrying from it in fear.

The faint sound of clanging pans pulled her from her thoughts. She suspected that the servants must have started their work in the kitchen, preparing the breakfast for the Master and planning the dinner for the return of their Mistress. Quickly, she exited the old mill to avoid being seen. Before stepping into the kitchen, she took a deep breath to compose herself, rubbing her hands together to clean her dirty fingers. Just as she wanted to turn the knob, the door swung open rapidly, revealing a tired looking Vanessa. Her eyes narrowed in surprise; she scrutinized Blair's face and the gardens closely as if she suspected someone to be hiding in the bushes.

"What are you doing out here this early, Miss?" she asked, not even trying to veil her contempt.

"I was just out for a walk," Blair replied with ease, having used that excuse on various occasions with her own governess when she had snuck out to meet Serena.

"At this time?" Vanessa prodded, her eyes still flickering suspiciously.

"Yes," Blair said flippantly, "now, I'd appreciate it if you brought my breakfast up to my room." She tried to squeeze past the maid into the kitchen. "And I don't want my eggs overcooked."

"I'm not _your_ servant, Miss," Vanessa snapped, refusing to make room for Blair to pass.

"I'm sure it will be more gratifying than emptying chamber pots," Blair seethed, all but pushing the obnoxious maid aside with her elbow.

Squeezing herself though the narrow archway into the kitchen, she instantly wanted to flee when found herself face to face with Mr. Baizen. He was leaning on the wall next to the swinging door on the far side of the room, his arms crossed lazily over his chest. Quiet panic rose inside of her as she noticed that the knuckles on his right hand were purple and bloodied, her mind flashing back to last night and the terrorizing sounds at her door. She swiveled around to leave the room through the entryway she had just used, but bumped right into Vanessa, who had already closed the door to the garden and was now blocking it with her body. Blair threw her a murderous glare; yet, the maid only smiled smugly, refusing to leave her post.

Blair turned back to face Mr. Baizen, who had apparently watched the silent war between the two women with slight amusement. His lips were crooked into a mischievous grin, but his eyes were relentless and frozen. She cleared her throat with annoyance while her eyes searched the kitchen for some kind of escape or weapon. Realizing that no other person was in the room beside herself, Mr. Baizen, and Vanessa, her gaze finally fell on a long knife lying on a small wooden table to her right.

She heard Mr. Baizen chuckle. "Don't even think about that, Miss Waldorf."

Her eyes moved back to look at him. He had taken a few steps towards her and was shaking his head in mocking disapproval. "I just want to talk to you." He sighed loudly. "About where you were last night."

A numbing sensation travelled through her body as she forced her face to remain calm and disinterested. "I was here, in my room, of course."

With swift steps he crossed the room towards her, his expression having lost all of its softness. Hastily, she took a few steps to the side, reaching for the knife, but his hard hands yanked at her elbow before she could grasp it. He pulled her flush against his body, his fingers piercing her flesh forcefully. Her eyes shot up to glare at him, refusing to let him see the fear churning inside of her.

"You can go now, Vanessa," he said to the servant, "but make sure that no one interrupts us." His blue eyes gleamed coldly as he smiled down at Blair, gripping her arms so tightly that she almost fainted.

Blair turned her head slightly and saw that Vanessa's gaze flashed uncertainly at the scene before her, apparently unsure of what to do. She caught the servant's eyes for a fleeting moment, silently pleading for her help. However, Vanessa averted her face quickly, directing her step towards the swinging door without looking back.

Blair stared at the closing door dazedly, only hearing the repeated thuds as it slowly came to a halt. She couldn't think of anything but the searing grip of Mr. Baizen's fingers and his hot breath as he bent down towards her neck. She forced herself to focus on the smoky steam rising from a pan on the stove, the sounds of eggs crashing into each other in a pot with boiling water, the dim streams of sunlight hitting the marble floor from a small window above the wooden table; anything that would keep her mind from apprehending what was surely going to happen. As she felt his wet lips press against her exposed neck, she squeezed her eyes together tightly, willing her mind to find an escape. A moist cloth swept a line down the column of her throat, bile rising inside of her as she recognized it as Mr. Baizen's tongue.

She tried to wiggle her arms from his grasp, only serving to make him hold on to her harder, pushing her against the locked door behind them violently. She trashed her head from side to side in an attempt to keep his mouth from going further; however, in retaliation he grasped her chin angrily with one hand, forcing his mouth onto her lips.

A strangled cry left her throat as she continued to struggle against him, searching to kick his shins with her feet. He groaned slightly when she landed a heavy blow against his right leg with the hard tip of her shoes. Yet, it was not enough to make him let go. He pressed his body firmly against hers, wedging his knee between her thighs and grasping her slender wrists with a punishing grip to stop her assaults.

"Why must you fight so hard, Blair?" he asked in a raspy voice close to her ear, biting her earlobe painfully until she was sure he had drawn blood. "I know you were at _The Lion_ last night, although your disguise was good, I must admit."

Blair's eyes shot up to look at his face, which now hovered before her, a leering grin stretching his features, his gaze wandering to her plump lips. "No, I wasn't," she said adamantly, believing that he was only testing her.

He let out a long, annoyed sigh. "Miss Waldorf, do you think I'm an imbecile?" His voice was laced with cold anger as he pushed his knee further up between her legs.

She stared at him challengingly, not wanting to yield to his power without a fight. "I hope that was a rhetorical question, Mr. Baizen, because you might not like my answer."

He smirked tensely. "Your blonde friend, lovely as she might be, is not one for keeping thoughts to herself. She told me all about her old childhood friend, who just came to town to be a governess." He bent down to brush his mouth against hers. Blair pressed her lips together tightly, which he greeted with a low chuckle.

"I never knew for certain that it was you, but then I saw you last night in the club with that blind fool. Your friend even told me that the cloak in her room belonged to her governess friend, who had just visited her that night." He grasped both her wrist in one of his large hands, freeing his other hand to trace her throat with his fingers as if searching for the right spot to squeeze the air out of her windpipe.

Blair swallowed tightly, her head swimming with anger at Serena's carelessness and black despair at her current predicament.

"What do you want from me?" she asked meekly.

He chuckled darkly once more. "I thought that much was clear, Miss Waldorf." His free hand traveled down her collarbone until it reached her linen-clad chest, rubbing his palm over one of her breast deftly, ensuring that she could feel his touch through her corset. "I want the same courtesy that you apparently extended to my dear friend Mr. Bass last night."

She shook her head determinedly, wanting to defend herself although she knew it wouldn't discourage him, "I didn't – "

"Don't even try to deny it. I saw how he held your hand, how possessive he was of you. And as your employer I think have even more rights to your services than he."

With a swift motion of his head, he pressed his lips against hers insistently. His mouth moved with bruising force, his teeth biting down on her bottom lip, trying to get her to respond.

Attempting to ignore the burning pain on her lips and wrists, Blair squeezed her eyes shut, grinding her teeth together roughly. Despite her efforts, she noticed his hand sliding down her body to her stomach. He gripped her waist tightly, pushing his thumb into her wound. She winced heavily, a small gasp escaping her lips, which he took as an invitation to invade her mouth with his tongue. She bit down on it sharply, hoping it would distract him enough to release her. However, he only growled in pain, drawing his head back quickly, but did not soften his grip on her wrists or the pressure of his body. She sensed the fabric of her dress being hunched up to her hip by his fingers, his breath thick and uneven against her neck.

"Father?"

Blair's eyes flew open quickly, her hands and body released from their prison as Mr. Baizen swirled around to meet the familiar voice.

Margaret's clear eyes darted between her father and Blair, her small hand still pressed tightly to the open swing door. Blair could see a swirl of emotion flit over the girl's face, before finally setting her mouth into a determined line, erasing all the features of an innocent child.

Blair took a slow step towards the girl, trying not to spook her. "Margaret, what you have just seen, is not what it looks like." She shot Mr. Baizen a questioning look, hoping he would step in to reassure his daughter, but he only kept watching her with curious eyes.

"It looked like you were kissing Father, Miss Waldorf," Margaret said pertly, turning around quickly and letting the door fall shut behind her. Blair could hear her hurried steps reverberating through the marble front hall and corridors.

Heavy silence fell over the room, only interrupted by the heavy thuds of the still moving door.

"I suspect that my wife has returned early from her journey, and that you will lose your position as soon as Margaret tells her what she saw," Mr. Baizen remarked in a dispassionate tone. "Pity. You were by far my favorite governess."

Blair turned to face him, staring at him with contempt. She tried to school her features into a mask of indifference, while her mind raced with images of how she could kill him in the most painful way.

Suddenly, she heard the door open slowly, and as she turned her head she saw that Vanessa had entered, her eyes darting nervously in Mr. Baizen's direction before settling on Blair.

"Lady Baizen wishes to see you immediately in the drawing room, Miss Waldorf," the maid said in a self-satisfied manner.

Blair just nodded tiredly, moving past Vanessa to leave the room.

"You will no longer work here after today, Vanessa," Mr. Baizen said in a stern and cutting voice. "You failed in your loyalties towards you Master, and I'm sure my wife will agree with me on that."

As Blair pushed the door open tentatively, she heard Vanessa gasp behind her. "But Mr. Baizen, when your wife arrived, I had to –"

"Get out of my sight now and pack your things, Miss Abrams," he commanded icily, before she heard him unbolt the door to the garden roughly, slamming it shut behind him.

Blair tried to ignore the small whimpers following her as she exited the kitchen and crossed the entrance hall with deliberate steps. When she turned the corner to the adjacent corridor, she noticed that the drawing room door stood wide open, casting a rectangular sunny shadow onto the floor and the opposite wall. She approached it slowly, steeling herself for the lady's anger.

She entered the room carefully, immediately spotting Lady Baizen's dark form in front of the window, milky light casting a simmering halo around her. Her back was turned to Blair, her coal-black hair piled up high on her head like a crown.

"Miss Waldorf, please close the door," Lady Baizen said in an eerily composed voice. Blair almost wished she would throw one of her beloved flower arrangements at her; everything would be more bearable than this stifling tranquility.

She closed the door loudly, hoping to snap the other woman from her trance. "Lady Baizen, you wanted to speak to me?" She thought it best to confront the tension head-on instead of stepping around it for another hour.

Uncomfortable silence spread over the room as Lady Baizen tilted her head slightly to look at Blair from the corner of her eye, her silhouette a sharp shadow against the illuminated window. "It came to my attention that you engaged in inappropriate behavior with my husband," she said slowly. "How will you defend yourself against that?"

"I know that you don't think very highly of me, Lady Baizen, but I wasn't at fault in what Margaret saw," Blair said pleadingly. Fear quelled up inside of her at the very real possibility of losing her position.

She heard Lady Baizen scoff slightly. "You mean to imply then that it was my husband's fault?"

Blair opened her mouth to answer, but thought better of it, unsure of what to say without changing her situation for the worse. A thick lump formed in her throat, and she wished that she could start this day all over again. If she had only stayed in her room for longer, if she hadn't felt to urge to explore those wretched ruins, she'd be safe.

Lady Baizen finally turned around to face her, her gaze flickering to the red marks on Blair's wrist though her expression remained stony and unmoving. "I know my husband well enough to guess his role in this scenario, Miss Waldorf," she said without empathy, "but you have to leave this house today, for the sake of my reputation and yours."

A small, humorless laugh escaped Blair. "My reputation?" she asked in disbelief, her voice rising. "Surely, you must have guessed that I'm already a fallen woman, Lady Baizen. If I lose this employment, I have nothing."

Lady Baizen regarded her with cold, but solemn eyes. "At least your dignity will still be intact." Deliberately, she turned back towards the window, signaling that the conversation had come to an end.

"I'll have one of the servants take you to town in a cart, Miss Waldorf," Lady Baizen said quietly, "that's all I can do for you."

Blair could only stare at the woman across the room as a deep sense of helplessness flooded her body. She wanted to shake her, beseech her to reconsider her decision; however, her pride forbade it. Hot tears rose to her eyes as she finally turned to open the door.

"I warned you, Miss Waldorf," Lady Baizen called to her, but Blair did not look back as she entered the hallway and closed the door behind her.

As if walking through heavy sand, she made her way towards her room, every step pulling her down to an unknown future. Servants passed her on the steps, but she could see nothing except murky black and white swirls. Finally reaching her door, she fumbled with the key clumsily until the lock sprang open.

She walked straight towards the travelling trunk next to her bed, but standing before it, she couldn't find the strength to open it. Silent tears ran down her face as millions of thoughts fought for dominance in her head; yet, none would linger long enough for her to grasp it and spin it into a plan.

Suddenly, a small, cold hand slipped into hers, and with shock she realized that it was Kathy's. Apparently, she had sneaked into her room without her noticing. She tried to wipe the tears from her face quickly so the girl wouldn't see them.

"Are you crying because of me?" Kathy asked in a quiet and unsure voice. Blair looked down at their intertwined hands before her gaze fell onto the child's concerned features. Her forehead was wrinkled into a frown, her blue eyes searching Blair's questioningly.

Blair pulled her lips into a smile while kneeling down on the plush carpet in front of Kathy. "Of course not, little one." She stroked the child's soft cheek with her knuckles in reassurance. "Never because of you. I'm crying because I have to leave today, Kathy."

Kathy's eyes widened, swiftly twisting out of Blair's reach. She walked over to her favorite spot at the window, staring at the blackened ruins below, which were now fully bathed in the morning sun.

Blair followed the petite girl and crouched down beside her cautiously, searching her brain for comforting words. She would have liked to tell Kathy the truth, but knew that it would only serve to alienate the child from her parents further. "I have to visit a sick aunt in Ireland," Blair lied, her voice cracking slightly. "She is very sick, so I might not come back for a while." She turned her head to look at Kathy's profile, to see if she had heard her. Although the pale girl was still facing the window like a statue, her eyes flitted back and forth between the ruins and Blair repeatedly.

"Do you understand that, Kathy?" Blair prodded, hoping that this fabricated story would make it easier on the child to let her go. And if she was honest with herself, it made it easier to accept for her as well; if she forced herself to believe her own lie, the truth would lose its sting.

Kathy nodded and turned fully towards Blair, giving her a timid smile. Blair almost wanted to pull her into a hug, assure her that everything would be fine, but she knew that it would make Kathy uncomfortable. Instead, she settled on stroking the girl's thick black hair, like she had done on their first day together.

"You can help me pack my trunk, if you like?" Blair suggested with a lightheartedness she did not feel, nudging Kathy's nose playfully. The girl's eyes lit up for a short moment, before she spun around, heading for the wardrobe.

When Blair looked up, she found Jenny hovering before the door, wringing her hands nervously. "Miss, Lady Baizen sent me up to see if you might need help?"

"Thank you, Jenny," Blair replied warmly, acknowledging Lady Baizen's gesture, "you can gather my things from the dressing room."

Jenny cast down her eyes as she crossed the room with haste, but stopped abruptly next to Blair. She lifted her eyes to meet Blair's with a steady gaze. "I'm so sorry, Miss," she said in a sincere voice.

Despite hearing the genuineness in the maid's tone, Blair found it unbearable to be pitied, especially by someone of lower rank. "Let's not talk about it anymore, Jenny," she bit out coolly, cutting off the conversation. Apparently, Jenny understood her request, quickly walking towards the other room to busy herself with the toiletries.

Blair tried to aim her attention on Kathy's failing efforts to store all of her heavy silk gowns into the wooden trunk. Most of the dresses now lay in a rainbow colored heap on the floor, where Kathy was attempting to fold the expensive fabric, her small tongue sticking out in concentration.

"Make sure to fold the sleeves in first, Kathy, and try to avoid sharp creases," she tried to guide the girl's efforts gently, not wanting to deny her this last shared activity.

With trepidation Blair watched them pile her wardrobe and necessities into her trunk, her uneasiness growing as Jenny hailed one of the male servants to carry it outside and store it on the waiting horse cart. Blair took a deep breath as she looked around the bedroom to see if she had forgotten anything, trying to ignore what lay ahead. She couldn't believe that after everything her future now looked more uncertain than ever.

She grabbed her bonnet from the bed, while reaching for Kathy's hand, not turning back as they exited the room and made their way down the white stairs, which emitted an almost unearthly blinding glow in the midday sun.

Despite the plentitude of servants being employed by the Baizens, not a single human sound reverberated through the halls, the summer heat seemingly having stifled all activity. As Blair opened the front door, the cacophony of chirping grills from the surrounding meadow was almost deafening, beads of sweat forming on her forehead as the scorching air hit her skin. The cart and its driver were already waiting for her in front of the house, the horse pawing the ground with its front hoofs impatiently.

She bent down towards Kathy, who was still clinging to her hand. With her free arm, Blair pulled out her room key from her dress and placed it in between Kathy's fingers, attempting to encourage the child to let go of her. The little girl grasped the object tightly and raised her eyes to Blair in question. "Give that to you mother, little one." Kathy's gaze fixated on the key in her hand for a moment before nodding warily.

Blair let her right hand glide over the child's hair one final time, before placing a soft goodbye kiss on her cheek. As she pulled away she saw that Kathy's eyes had filled with tears. Once more Blair forced her lips into a reassuring smile, trying to ignore the aching lump in her throat.

She quickly spun around, walking towards the cart in hurried steps. Blair willed herself to stare straight ahead when it finally pulled away from the mansion, busying herself with tying her bonnet under her chin. Although focusing her attention on the burning sensation of the sun on her knees and the slight breeze cooling her face as the cart slowly made its way down the hill, she found it difficult to ban the image of Kathy under the towering marble pillars from her mind. **S**he tried to occupy her thoughts by what her next step should be, where she should go, and as the town, buried under a hazy film of white smoke, came into view, she knew that Serena would know what to do.

As the cart finally came to a halt before the tavern, Blair was faced with the most terrible deja-vu; this time, however, the town square was deserted and the only sound echoing from the surrounding houses were the sharp snorts from the horse. She watched as the driver unloaded her trunk hastily, obviously avoiding her gaze. Blair would have almost thought it comical if it weren't for the fact that even a mere stable boy was now deeming himself above her.

"Would you be so kind as to bring my luggage into _The Lion_, boy," Blair said with icy sweetness, leaving no room for disagreement.

He looked at her uncertainly for a moment, before caving in and hauling the heavy box towards the entrance door. Pushing it open slightly, he dropped the trunk unceremoniously on the threshold. Unfazed, he returned to his seat on the cart, clicking his tongue loudly until the horse fell into a lazy trot.

Furious, Blair stomped towards the door, attempting to climb over the trunk in a dignified manner without tearing her frock. As soon as she had managed to enter the stuffy bar room, the familiar stench of sweat and alcohol assaulted her nostrils, the warm breeze from the open door offering only small relief. With discomfort she noticed that loose tendrils of hair had attached themselves to the sweaty skin on her neck and that her corset now clung to the moisture at the small of her back.

A sole customer was hunched over an empty glass, longingly staring at the filled shelf behind the bar. Murky sunlight filled the dusty room, illuminating the dark stains and broken shards of glass on the wooden floor boards.

Arthur was leaning against one corner of the counter, holding up a newspaper; his old eyes twinkled merrily as he recognized her. "Lass! You can't seem to get enough of us, do you?" he said teasingly. "Perhaps, I can convince you to work here after all?"

Blair smiled wryly. "I need to see Serena, Sir. I need her help." She gave him a pleading look, hoping that her female charm would convince him to ask no further questions.

Nonetheless, his eyes wandered to the spot where her trunk was still wrenched between the door and its frame. "Did the old dragon kick you out, child?" he asked in a warm but worried tone.

"That is none of your concern, Sir," Blair snapped disdainfully. "Could I please see Serena now?"

He glanced at her curiously for a moment, his gaze concerned. "You know the way, just go on up." He nodded in the direction of the stairwell. "I will keep an eye on your luggage for you, Miss."

"Thank you," Blair said, straightening her spine. Marching across the room, she tried to step around the litter on the floor and the drunk, filthy man at the bar with as much grace as possible, taking care not to touch anything inadvertently. As she passed him, he turned his face towards her slowly, giving her a dopey smile that revealed his rotting, brown teeth. She pressed her lips together tightly, and quickly made her way up the narrow steps to the upper floor.

Standing in front of Serena's closed door, she started to knock on it timidly. When nothing happened, she banged her knuckles against the wood more forcefully. To her relief, she soon heard a slight shuffle behind the door. As it was finally unbolted, Blair almost had to laugh at Serena's appearance; she had clearly just peeled herself out of bed. Her blond hair was in wild disarray and her eyes barely open as she tried to adjust them to the dim light of the hallway. "Blair?" she croaked.

"I need to talk to you, S," Blair said firmly.

"Now?" Serena rasped incredulously.

"I lost my position and now I don't know what to do," Blair explained dryly.

Serena's eyes widened as she processed her friend's words. Dazedly, she stepped aside to let Blair into her room. Thick, blue curtains had been drawn across the open window to block out the daylight and the heat. Still, the air was pungent and stale, causing Blair to cross the room hastily and pull the drapes aside. Immediately, a fresh gust of wind filled the close space. "That's better," Blair sighed, turning back around to face Serena, who had sat down on the large bed, her feet tucked under a yellow blanket.

"What happened?" Serena asked with an uneasy look on her face. "Did someone find out about last night?" Her voice grew smaller with each word, almost as if she was afraid of the answer.

Blair closed the distance between them, taking a seat next to Serena on the edge of the bed. "There is something you need to know about your patron, S.," she started hesitatingly, searching her friend's eyes. "He is also my employer, Mr. Baizen."

Serena stared at her in shock, shaking her head slightly. "I don't understand," she whispered, "how did he know –"

"Apparently, you told him all about your governess friend coming to visit you," she interrupted with a bitter edge to her voice. "So, when he saw me last night, it wasn't very hard for him to connect the dots."

"I didn't mean to …," Serena trailed off, her fingers fidgeting with the blanket at her feet. "He was so nice and charming," she continued apologetically.

Blair regarded her friend thoughtfully, laying her hand on Serena's thigh as a peace offering. "Promise me you won't see him anymore, S."

Immediately, Serena's head shot up, eyeing Blair with confusion. "Why?" she asked curtly before continuing in a softer tone, "I'm sorry that you lost your position, Blair, I really am. But I need his money."

Blair took a deep breath, pulling her hand from Serena's leg. "This morning he tried to force himself on me." Her voice wavered slightly as she lowered her eyes with shame. She knew that Serena would never judge or condemn her, but she couldn't help but feel demeaned and embarrassed by what had almost happened.

She felt her friend's gaze bore into the side of her head. "Are you all right, B.?" she prodded in a gentle whisper.

Blair nodded, meticulously picking lint from her dress until Serena placed her hand over hers, stilling her movements.

"Did you at least kick him in his nether regions?" Serena asked in a heated voice.

"I tried," Blair replied with a small smirk.

"Good," Serena said with satisfaction, "because otherwise I'd have done it tonight."

"So, you won't …?"

"No, he will no longer be welcome in my bed," Serena said determinedly. "I'm sure there are plenty of other men who'd want to sleep with me, right?" she giggled, nudging Blair's ribs with her elbow.

Blair rolled her eyes, but couldn't suppress a laugh bubbling up from her throat. It almost felt as if they were girls again, concocting silly plans and schemes in her bedroom. They sat in comfortable silence for several moments, Serena resting her head on Blair's shoulder.

"I don't know what I'm going to do now S.," Blair confessed, "I have nowhere to go."

Serena grasped Blair's hand tightly. "Maybe you could write to my mother. I'm sure she could find you a new position. You know she has quite a lot of acquaintances."

"Maybe." Blair replied hesitatingly, knowing that she had no other choice but to prevail on Lily's kindness once more.

Suddenly, Serena jumped to her feet, her eyes twinkling with excitement. "Or … you could stay here with me and work at _The Lion_. That would be so much fun, B.!"

Blair let out an incredulous laugh. "Have you gone mad, Serena? I'd rather work in one of those dreadful cotton mills than become a whore."

"I know that, Blair," Serena huffed angrily, "but I'm sure Martha could find a more decent employment for you." She turned on her heels quickly and stormed towards the door. "In fact, I'll go ask her right now. Wait here."

"Serena, no," Blair cried, but her blonde mane had already disappeared into the hallway.

Blair lay back on the bed and sighed deeply, the heat having drained her of all the energy to stop Serena's quest. She closed her eyes, listening to the deep, humming silence outside the window.

Soon enough, hurried steps echoed through the corridor, prompting Blair to sit up slowly and straighten her hair. As Serena entered the room with Martha in tow, she rose up from the bed hurriedly, not wanting to grant the stout women an advantage over her, even if it was only in height.

In broad daylight, the lady's face looked tired and sallow; however, her gown still exposed more of her body than it covered. The upper buttons of her bodice hung open, revealing a dirty white corset and a sheen of sweat in the crease between her breasts; the dark sleeves of her dress had been rolled up to her elbows and were apparently soaked with water.

"Serena here tells me that you are looking for a job? Did the Master already have his fair share of you and kick you out?" Martha said gruffly, her gaze flickering to the marks on Blair's wrists.

Immediately, Blair's eyes flew to meet Serena's in a silent reproach.

"I had to tell her," Serena whispered, shrugging her shoulders.

Blair returned her attention to the older women, refusing to be intimidated by her knowing stare. "Yes, something like that."

Martha's gaze swept her body once more, assessing her unabashedly. "I suppose I can't interest you in putting your figure to good use with one of our patrons?"

"No," Blair replied with conviction, "I'll do everything … except that."

"Shame." Martha shrugged her shoulders in acquiescence. "But, I could use a new chamber maid for the girls' rooms. I had to dismiss our old one because she has gotten herself pregnant by one of our patrons," she said, grimacing slightly.

Blair nodded, contemplating the offer. She knew that the position would require her to do chores beyond unthinkable for a well-bred girl, something that she had taunted Vanessa for just this morning.

"How much salary?" she asked briskly, not bothering with politeness, now that she found herself bargaining for a job that would push her down to the level of stable boys and footmen.

The other woman chuckled, her bosom moving heavily in her corset. "You are quite a mercenary girl," she said, her eyes dancing with mirth before her features settled into a stern expression. "£ 2 per year, including room and board."

"£ 4 per year, including room and board," Blair countered quickly, "and I might be convinced to not inform Serena's mother, who has quite a lot of influential friends by the way, where she is." She watched with pleasure as Martha paled considerably. "Because if I did, she would get this establishment shut down immediately." She gave the lady a sweet smile before turning her attention to Serena, "Wouldn't you agree, S.?"

Serena's crestfallen face told Blair that she wouldn't be easily forgiven for using her friend's family as leverage; still, she chose to ignore the uncomfortable feeling in her chest, and extended her hand to Martha instead. "Deal?"

She hesitated a moment, her gaze flickering between the two girls before grasping Blair's hand roughly. "Deal," she bit out, "but I hope you realize how much you owe your blonde friend here."

"I do," Blair replied softly, hoping that it would appease Serena until they could talk in private. However, when she heard her friend scoff sharply, she refrained from searching out her blue eyes.

Immediately, Martha started dragging her out of the room behind her, pulling her hand harshly. "Come, lass, I will show you everything and then you can start right away."

As they hurried to the other end of the muggy corridor, she worried briefly that she went too far this time in using Serena's family history for her own gain. However, they had known each other since childhood and there was no reason for Serena to hold a grudge now, especially when Blair was in such a precarious situation. Still, an uneasy feeling settled in her stomach at the thought of having alienated her only remaining ally for good.

They stopped before a narrow door, looking as if it had been built by a one-handed carpenter. The wood panels were arranged in odd angels, leaving gaping holes that allowed a glimpse at the darkness behind it. Since the door had no handle or knob, Martha just pushed it open with a slight nudge, revealing another set of steep stairs that led to a spacious but dimly-lit attic.

"You'll find your bed and everything you need up there," Martha gestured towards the stairs. "I know you're from one of these well-to-do families in the South and are used to sleeping in silken sheets from the colonies, so this might be a bit of a change for you."

Blair smiled tightly, trying to swallow her pride and be thankful for not having to starve on the streets. As she took in the crooked, worn-in steps and moldy smell of rotting wood, her gaze fell once more to the makeshift door. She worried her bottom lip nervously, imagining how easy it would be for one of these drunken, depraved men to mistake it for a privy.

"Can I lock the door from inside?"

The older woman eyed her curiously. "Yes, there is a bolt, but if you ever think about inviting a man up there –"

"Understood," Blair responded swiftly.

Martha nodded, seemingly pleased. "You'll also find all of your work utensils stored up there. You will need to change the sheets in the girls' rooms each day and make sure that their chambers are presentable for the men," she droned on in a lecturing voice. "Then, you'll need to cook out the sheets in the back kitchen downstairs and help me prepare the food for the girls."

Although Blair's body filled with unease and disgust at the thought of having to touch bed linens coated with who knows what, she fought to keep her expression bored and disinterested, as if she had done these atrocious things all her life.

"Well, if you don't have any more questions, honey, you can start with the girls' rooms. Thomas will bring up your trunk later so you can get settled," Martha said impatiently.

Blair shook her head numbly, moving to climb the stairs to the attic to retrieve the necessary equipment.

"And, lass?" Martha called after Blair. "The chamber pots are part of the cleaning too," she said in a smug tone, apparently hoping to jolt her.

Even though her stomach tightened with revulsion, Blair tried to appear unfazed by the jab. At least she didn't have to feel guilty now for asking for more money; no self-respecting person would deign to do these chores without a proper incentive. Maybe she could try and advertise in the newspaper for a new governess position; living and working in this wretched town for a year, let alone the rest of her life seemed unimaginable.

The stairs creaked loudly as she made her way to upper landing, feeling the air around her turn unbearably stifling with every step. A small curtain-less window illuminated the room, allowing no breeze to enter it. Blair sighed heavily as she examined the worn-down, but comfortable looking bed and the antique dresser, adorned with a small, framed mirror. The only straight wall in the room was lined with various shelves, stacked with white linen, battered baskets, wooden buckets, and dozens of dirty rags and brooms.

Blair filled one of the more sturdy-looking baskets with as many clean sheets as possible since she had no desire to climb the steps to the attic once more. Furthermore, she grabbed two of the empty buckets and some of the cleaner rags from the shelf before hauling her supplies to the corridor below.

Taking one of the buckets, she went to the ground floor in search of the back kitchen that Martha had mentioned earlier. Luckily, she ran into Thomas on the stairs, who was more than happy to show her around the kitchen and storage area, even hinting at where to find the outhouse while blushing profusely. Moreover, with a few well-played smiles, she got him to carry the bucket filled with hot water up the stairs for her.

Breathing deeply, she finally knocked on one of the closed doors. She could have started with Serena's room, but wasn't sure whether she wanted to see her at the moment. Thus, she thought it best to give them both a little more time to unwind.

After a long moment, a young red-haired girl, clad only in a pink chemise, opened the door. She scanned Blair with unveiled distaste, her eyes lingering on her now matted hair and crumpled, grimy dress. Self-consciously, Blair attempted to straighten the wrinkles in her gown, while fighting to hold the impertinent girl's gaze, refusing to be intimidated.

"I'm the new maid," Blair tried to explain her presence.

"I can see that," the freckled red-head replied snidely, moving to the side to let her pass.

Entering the room, Blair almost laughed at seeing that the room had been decorated with a suffocating amount of pale pink pillows, curtains and rugs, giving the it appearance of a sickeningly sweet cream tart. "How old are you?" Blair couldn't help but ask with a small sneer.

"Sixteen, why?" the girl snapped.

Immediately, Blair felt bile rise in her throat at the thought that this child was already sleeping with men thrice her age, when she herself hadn't even been aware of more improper acts than open-mouthed kisses at the same stage of her life.

"Just curious," Blair answered gently, turning to the bed to busy herself with the sheets. She felt the girl study her movements, while she attempted to pull the linens from the bed with as much poise as possible. Touching only the edges of the fabric, she stuffed the soiled sheet into an empty basket, trying not to grimace.

"The chamber pot is under the bed," the girl pointed out, having reclined onto a pink chaise by the window.

Blair gave her a painful smile, holding her breath as she crouched down to retrieve the porcelain vessel. With swift movements she dumped its contents into one of her buckets, rinsing it with some hot water.

When she was done, she quickly carried the buckets and basket into the corridor, closing the door behind her swiftly. Exhausted, she leaned against the nearest wall, closing her eyes to compose herself and obliterate the humiliating experience from her memory.

"Rough day?" a familiar voice penetrated the solitude.

She opened her eyes to see Serena looking at her with concern from the far side of the hallway. Blair nodded slightly, sending her friend a grateful smile, which she returned almost timidly.

"You can do my room next, if you want," Serena offered.

"With pleasure," Blair replied wryly, but grateful that she wouldn't have to empty a stranger's chamber pot for the next half hour.

Over the afternoon, her cleaning skills became faster and more efficient, though she still hadn't finished the last room when the sun began to set, bathing the chambers in an orange glow. She heard the low rustle and murmurs in the hallway as the girls began to prepare for the night, often gathering in one room to help each other.

Blair was just trying to wrestle the last white sheet onto a mattress when she felt a presence behind her. She turned her head, letting the linen sink to the bed as she saw Martha study her from the open door.

"One of our customers has asked about a new girl that worked here last night." Blair felt heat rise to her cheeks in uncomfortable waves. "Apparently, she had long, soft, curly, brown hair," Martha carried on in an irritated tone.

"I haven't seen her," Blair said, schooling her features into a bored expression. Lazily, she turned to continue straightening the sheets.

"Don't toy with me, girl," Martha said sternly, reminding Blair once more of her mother, "Serena has all but admitted that she took you downstairs last night."

Blair cursed under her breath at her friend's inability to lie.

"I warned you about these men," Martha said.

Blair could feel the old lady's eyes burn into her back, but she refused to face her.

"He wants to speak to you, and he is willing to pay a handsome sum of extra money. So I'm afraid you'll have to go, honey." Blair heard Martha walk into the room, stopping behind her.

Blair huffed loudly. "He is blind. Can't you send another girl?"

Suddenly, she felt a strong hand grip her arm, forcing her to finally turn around. Martha's thick fingers grasped her chin deftly, causing Blair to let out an involuntary whimper.

"He said he would know if it wasn't you," Martha said gently while her fingernails dug into Blair's skin. "I'm not losing all that money because of your airs and graces, child. I'm a businesswoman first."

"I'm not a whore," Blair hissed, wrenching the other woman's hand from her face forcefully.

Martha laughed loudly. "I'm not asking you to lay with him. He only wants to talk to you." She eyed Blair curiously. "You must have made quite an impression."

"What if I'm not going down there?" Despite already knowing what Martha's answer would be, she still hoped for some female compassion from the other woman.

"You may have some power over me, child, but as long as you live under my roof you'll do as I say, or I will make your and your friend's life quite miserable." Martha raised her fleshy hand to pat Blair's hair in a comforting gesture. However, she jerked her head away indignantly, not wanting to be pitied by a brothel owner.

"Fine," she snapped, already stomping past Martha, refusing to make any changes to her appearance just to spite her.

"He is sitting in one of the secluded booths, the first one on the right," she heard Martha call after her as she walked down the corridor towards the stairs.

Pulling the red velvet curtain at the base of the stairs to the side, a thick wall of smoky air and heavy piano music hit her body forcefully. She knew that she would never get used to the smell of tobacco, alcohol and sweet perfume that permeated the room, no matter how many years she'd have to work here. She wrangled her way through the throngs of intertwined couples, trying to remain invisible for any gentleman on the prowl for new girls. As she finally reached the booth in question, she stopped for a moment to compose herself. Yet, the haze made it impossible to hold on to a clear thought.

Like the doors and stairwells, the booths were separated from the rest of the room with heavy velvet curtains, used to allow its occupants some privacy. Blair had heard from Serena that you never knew what to expect behind a curtain; apparently the illicit activities ranged from private dances and high-risk card games to sexual acts involving more than two partners. Shuddering, Blair slipped through the opening between the soft fabric as quietly as possible, not wanting to draw attention to herself.

He sat on the other side of the small compartment on an invitingly plush settee; the light from two candelabras tinged the space in an unworldly red glow. Much like last night his left hand gripped his black cane tightly, though the nervous twisting was gone. His other hand held a glass filled with a murky liquid, which he set down on a low table in front of him the moment he noticed her entrance. He stared in her direction expectantly, and she wondered if he really knew that it was her.

"So, you are mute again tonight," he said, a smirk forming on his face, almost reaching his dark eyes.

She took a small step towards him, but stopped immediately when she saw that he was rising from his seat with slow, measured movements. He did not lean on his cane as she would have expected, but occasionally moved it in front of him in a half-circle. She supposed that it was his way of surveying his surroundings for any surprising obstacles and barriers. Eyeing his steps and body curiously, her gaze travelled over his lean frame and tailored clothes, admiring his broad shoulders and strong neck. She had to admit to herself that he was a rather striking man, despite his preference for seedy establishments. Heat bloomed on her cheeks as she realized what she had just thought, quickly trying to ban the thoughts from her mind.

However, as he came closer, she realized that other than his dark charm and his name, she knew nothing about him. Torturous images crept to the forefront of her mind as she remembered how Mr. Baizen's lips and hands had humiliated and debased her this morning. She looked down to the dark bruises forming around her wrists; wrapping one of her hands around the marred skin, she dug her fingers into it slowly, trying to feel the dull pain.

As two black leather shoes came into her vision, her head snapped up sharply. He had come to a halt a few feet away from her, trying but not quite achieving to affix his gaze on her. His emotionless eyes almost scared her now as he seemed to be asking for something that she could not give him. Again, he twisted his cane into the floor board, apparently waiting for her to say or do something. He raised his right hand in her direction, compelling her to take a step away from him. As he noticed her movement, he mirrored her by taking a slight step forward.

She quickly turned on her heel, refusing to be taken advantage of by another man. Ripping the curtains open forcefully, she hastily made her way towards the staircase in case he chose to chase after her. She knew that it would be nearly impossible for him to find her among the loud noise and heavy smoke, even if he could see. Only wanting to hide herself in her small chamber and curl up under her blanket, she ran up the stairs to the girls' quarters.

As she rounded the corner at the top of the stairs, looking behind her to see if anyone was following, she collided with a hard object. Before she could right herself, two strong hands encircled her upper arms, pushing her body backwards.

"So we meet again, Miss Waldorf," a cold voice snarled, which she recognized immediately as Mr. Baizen's. She closed her eyes in panic, struggling heavily to escape his hold.

"Let me go," she all but screamed, hoping someone in the rooms would hear her.

He laughed crudely. "Everyone is downstairs, and even if they weren't, they would probably be too busy to care about the little maid." He tried to pull her towards him, her eyes flying open as she smelled the heavy alcohol on his breath. His gaze was unsteady and clouded as he let it wander down her body.

"Your friend just informed me that I would be no longer welcome in her room, and I think I have you to thank for that." He gripped her arms tighter as if he wanted to cut off her blood circulations. She felt her fingers grow numb, revulsion and fear rising inside of her at the realization that he might want to try and finish what he started this morning.

She attempted to twist her arms out of his grasp with forceful and unexpected movements. Due to his inebriation, Mr. Baizen lacked his usual alertness, so Blair was able to gain enough room to ram her knee between his legs. Groaning with pain, he pushed her away from him furiously. As she stepped back to regain her footing, a sudden empty abyss opened beneath her feet. She felt herself lose her balance, her hands reaching out desperately to find something to hold on to. However, her fingers slid along the smooth wood panels of the stairwell, her eyes meeting the shocked face of Mr. Baizen for a short moment.

It felt like an eternity until her body hit the sharp edges of the steps, and although trying to cushion the fall, she was incapable of stopping herself from rolling down the steep stairs. She closed her eyes tightly, clenching her teeth as dull pain spread through her limbs and skull.

When she finally landed on solid ground, it felt as if someone had split her stomach open with a blunt axe. A warm, thick liquid seeped into her dress, covering her like a soggy blanket. She wanted to lay her hand onto her belly to stop the bleeding, but couldn't work up the energy to lift it. Her eyelids grew heavy even though the splintering noise in her head made it impossible to think.

She closed her eyes to rest and block out the throbbing and twisting spasms in her legs, but was soon awoken by cold water splashed into her face. A myriad of muffled voices swirled around her, but she felt too exhausted to even try and open her eyes. She wanted nothing more than to sleep and for these people to leave her alone. As the sounds grew dimmer and her body number, she sensed someone lifting her up, carrying her outside; however, she soon felt herself falling into the depths of a deep, black slumber as the ground started to move beneath her.


	5. Frozen Fire

**AN:** **Much love and big hugs to my beta Robin. You are awesome! Also a giant hug to Kate for waiting with me till Blair had made it down the stairs.  
**

**Of course, a big Thank You to all of my readers and reviewers for your patience and continued love for this story :).**

**V. Frozen Fire**

July 1799

A dull, rumbling sound pierced her consciousness as she fought against the desire to let her thoughts slip back into the cool darkness from which she was only just emerging. A moldy, unfamiliar smell assaulted her nose as she attempted to carefully stretch her limps. Her eyes flew open quickly as a stinging pain shot through her stomach and horrifying memories quelled up inside of her. Like watching a stranger, she saw herself lying on the ground on the bottom of a stairwell, scarlet red blood pumping out of her body, soiling her dress. Instantly, she moved her hand to her belly but let out a relieved breath when she found her garment dry and clean.

Slowly, Blair's mind began to realize that she was no longer on the floor of _The Lion_. In panic, her eyes swiveled around the room, trying to hold onto a familiar piece of furniture or painting. However, most of the space was shrouded in impenetrable darkness, the only source of light being a small white candle on a side table next to her bed and a pale orange gleam creeping through the cracks of a door left ajar. The rumbling sound still reverberated through the room, though she was unable to locate its source.

As her eyes slowly adjusted, the shape of another person became visible; slumped in a chair next to her bed, snoring slightly. She opened her mouth to speak, but her voice, apparently not having been used for a while, was no louder than a whisper. She wondered how long she had been asleep, and although it felt like only a few hours to her, the dryness in her throat told her that it must have been longer. The only thing she could remember now were voices – one voice – that had reappeared in her dreams.

As she let her gaze wander over her surroundings once more, trying to ignore the thumping background noise, she noticed a glass of water on the side table. It was clear and inviting, suddenly making her feel as if she was dying of thirst. She stretched out her arm, but noticed with frustration that she would have to sit up in order to reach it. Attempting to gauge the pain in her stomach, she lifted her head up slowly. When she didn't notice anything beside a prickling sensation, she tried to push herself up with the help of her hands. Immediately, she felt as if the skin on her stomach was being pulled apart by small pincers; groaning loudly, she fell back onto the mattress, clenching her eyes together tightly as she waited for the burning pain to subside.

"Miss, you are awake!" a stern, female voice exclaimed close to the bed. As Blair reopened her eyes, she saw a scrawny, middle-aged women leaning over her, placing a hand on her forehead. "You have to stay in bed, Miss. Your wound is not fully healed yet," she said angrily.

Blair nodded her head faintly, the discomfort having almost left her body. She directed her gaze to the side table, hoping the woman would understand her plea.

"Ah, you are thirsty, Miss," the lady quickly said. She picked up the glass from the table and raised it to Blair's lips carefully. As the water spilled down her throat, relief washed through her; yet, she found it hard to breath, the stale air in the room smothering her even though no fire had been lit.

She tried to clear her throat by coughing. The woman pulled the glass away from her, eyeing her with concern. "Can you open the window, please," Blair finally managed to croak, her voice sounding feeble and tired.

"No, Miss, the dirty air won't be good for you," the woman responded curtly, walking across the room to retrieve a porcelain washbasin from a dresser.

If she hadn't felt so weak, Blair would have marched to the window to open it herself; instead, she settled on glowering at the other woman, amusing herself by mocking her unfortunate hairstyle and dreary dress silently.

"Who are you?" Blair rasped, hoping to sound as aloof as possible.

"I'm Miss Scott, the housekeeper," the woman replied in a dispassionate voice, setting the basin down on the small table.

"Housekeeper?" Blair asked in confusion, scanning the room bewildered. Up until now she had imagined herself to be in a hospital, albeit an unusual gloomy one; the long-sleeved, scratchy nightgown she had been forced to wear certainly gave the impression of one. However, as she once more surveyed the large four-poster bed and felt the lush fabric of the blanket beneath her fingertips, the notion of a hospital bed seemed more and more ludicrous.

Warily, Blair watched Miss Scott soak a cloth in the porcelain bowl, wringing it out with deft movements. "I'm Mr. Bass's housekeeper."

Blair eyes widened in shock, and the housekeeper, mistaking her reaction for a sign of discomfort, hastily placed the wet cloth on her forehead.

"Is this Mr. Bass's house?" she asking tensely, sensing her voice growing stronger.

The other woman just nodded, wiping at her patient's face. Blair attempted to jerk her head away hastily, embarrassed at being treated like a child.

"You should be grateful, Miss, that he took you in. He could have just left you there to die," Miss Scott snapped indignantly, letting the washcloth splash into the basin. "Not every loose girl, who gets injured in a spat with a customer, is that lucky."

"I'm not what you think I am," Blair bit out with effort.

The housekeeper threw Blair an almost pitying look. "You can call yourself whatever you like, Miss. But the gossip going around town is as ugly as it can be. There is even talk of you having a torrid affair with Lord Baizen."

"I didn't," Blair said weakly.

"Then why did Lady Baizen let you go?" Miss Scott said with gleeful contempt.

Hot tears rose to Blair's eyes at the knowledge that no answer she gave would save her reputation. The realization that the last intact parts of her respectability and dignity, which she had fought so hard to preserve, now lay shattered before her almost overwhelmed her. Trying to find solace in the darkness, she turned her face away from the housekeeper's judging eyes.

"I'll bring something up for you to eat."

"I'm not hungry," Blair mumbled tiredly, wanting to go back to sleep.

"You have to eat something, Miss," the woman said hastily, a sudden nervousness lacing her voice. "Mr. Bass will get very angry if he hears that you haven't eaten something."

Blair moved her head to glance at the housekeeper, smirking when she noticed her apparent displeasure. "And how is that my problem, Miss Scott? I don't care about pleasing you or your precious ."

Miss Scott let out an exasperated huff, but her eyes beseeched Blair.

Blair plastered a sweet smile onto her face, the movement feeling unfamiliar. "Well, my dear Miss Scott, I wouldn't want to cause you any trouble. I will of course eat something if you open the window for me."

The housekeeper scrutinized Blair's face closely for a moment. "Mr. Bass doesn't want you exposed to the bad air outside," she stated reluctantly.

Blair sighed, already having decided that she would try and open the window herself later. "Can you at least answer some questions for me?"

The other woman nodded, her mouth set into a thin line, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

Blair took a fortifying breath, pleased with this small success. However, as she still felt at a disadvantage, she tried to shuffle her body higher up onto the pillows, the housekeeper not stepping in to help her this time.

"How long have I been here?"

Contemplating Blair's question, Miss Scott sat back down on the chair next to the bed. "Mr. Bass brought you here about a fortnight ago. A young, dirty-looking boy carried you in," she paused, her gaze falling to Blair's lower body, "There was blood everywhere," she continued, her voice trembling slightly. "They laid you down on the kitchen table, and Mr. Bass sent the boy for his doctor."

"What happened then?" Blair asked, suddenly feeling faint, her hands moving to cover her stomach.

"Mr. Bass had me hold a tablecloth against your wound to stop the bleeding while he kept talking to you," Miss Scott said, her lip curling in distaste at the memory. "I told him you were not going to make it, but, luckily for you, the doctor came quickly … and I was sent out of the kitchen."

Blair shook her head as she attempted to picture how the scene must have played out. "I can't remember any of that," she said more to herself than the housekeeper.

"I can't fancy that you would want to, Miss. In the first week you were in a lot of pain and battling a heavy fever," the severe woman said in monotonous voice, almost devoid of compassion.

Unsuccessfully, Blair tried to will herself to remember anything of what Miss Scott had just told her. "Have I been asleep the whole time?" she finally asked with trepidation.

"You were drifting in and out for the most of it," the housekeeper said in response, clearly displeased with Blair's questions and her presence in the house.

"The doctor said your wound is healing just fine," the older woman continued. "He has been expecting you to come to for a few days now. He gave instructions that you are not to exert yourself, or wear corseted dresses."

"Then what am I to wear?" Blair snapped, horrified at the idea of wearing a gown without stays underneath. She could just as well go out onto the streets in her chemise.

With a glare in Blair's direction, Miss Scott quickly rose from the chair. "At the moment just nightgowns, Miss," she said in a chiding tone. "Until you are strong enough to move about."

"I am strong enough," Blair exclaimed, knowing that she sounded like a petulant child. She hated being confined to an unknown bed in a strange, gloomy house, where the servants, and most likely the Master as well, believed her to be a common harlot.

Suddenly, a dark thought shot through her head, uneasiness clenching her insides. "Where are my dresses and gowns?" she asked in the strongest voice she could muster. "This old rag I'm wearing is not one of mine."

"You should rest now. I'll bring up your dinner." The housekeeper moved towards the door, ignoring her. She pulled the door open wide, the dull orange glow from the hallway creeping into the room even further, almost touching the bed.

Blair turned her face towards the wood-paneled ceiling. "You don't need to trouble yourself, Miss Scott. I'm not hungry," she said determinedly. "And if your Master wishes me to eat, he will have to force it down my throat himself." She continued to stare at the walls, waiting for the housekeeper's reaction. For a moment not a sound could be heard except the never-ceasing hollow rumbling.

"As you wish, Miss," the housekeeper said sharply from the other side of the room, letting the door slam into the lock loudly as she closed it.

Blair closed her eyes tightly, taking a deep breath. She wished more than anything to fall back into the quiet oblivion from which she had awoken, wanting to forget, to ignore her surroundings for as long as possible. However, the unfamiliar, droning noise only increased the more she tried to ignore it. Sighing, she pulled the lush blanket over her head, attempting once more to block out the irritating sounds.

Yet, after a few minutes the heat became unbearable and she resurfaced, gasping for air; however, the stuffy chamber did not grant her any relief. As her gaze fell on the thick, dark curtains covering one wall of the room, she suspected that she would find a window hidden behind them. Although Blair knew she was not supposed to move around, she reasoned that the short way to the window surely would be manageable. And maybe, if she succeeded in opening it, she could even get to the bottom of the strange noise.

Slowly, she tried to prop herself up against the pillows some more, hissing as the familiar burning began to spread through her body; still, it felt much more bearable now. Curiosity surging through her, she pulled the heavy nightgown up to her stomach, desiring to see how far the healing had progressed. However, she found her lower belly heavily bandaged, not allowing her a glimpse at the skin underneath.

After pushing the garment back down in disappointment, she inched closer to the edge of the bed with careful movements until she felt her legs dangling in the air. Cautiously, she let herself slide forward until her feet touched the rough wooden floor boards. Her hands gripped the nearest bedpost, attempting to steady herself as she rose hesitatingly from the bed.

Sharp pain rippled through her as she tried to straighten herself, her legs almost giving way, her head spinning. She bit her lower lip, trying to stifle a low moan as she grasped the bedpost desperately. Leaning her forehead against the cool wood, she waited until the nausea had subsided. Although her legs still felt weak and shaky, the sensation of blood rushing through her body gave her strength.

Determinedly, she set one foot forward, attempting to shift her weight slowly. For the first few steps she held onto the bed, ignoring the dull burn in her stomach. When she felt secure in her stance, she shuffled carefully towards the curtained window.

Since the flickering white candle on her bedside table illuminated only the smallest part of the room, she could not even tell the color of the drapes as she tried to pull them aside. Yet, they were so heavy that she could barely summon the energy to move them. Pulling them open, her head swam from the exertion and the swirls of dust released from the thick fabric.

Having drawn the curtains aside enough to reveal a narrow window, she swiftly reached for its handle, pushing it open as far as possible. A small gust of hot air along with the last pale rays of daylight entered the stuffy room; Blair inhaled deeply, relishing the smell of the evening and still warm sunlight. The warm breeze, however, did not provide as much relief as she had hoped, only filling her lungs like thick honey.

Noticing that the undeterminable sounds had only grown more prominent, she tried to catch a glimpse at the world outside, but the sun, standing low on the horizon, blinded her painfully, causing water to gather in her still tired eyes. Raising one hand to shield her face and tilting her head forward tentatively, she recognized a three-story brick building to her right, set at a close angle to the house she was in. A number of smaller but drab buildings were located around a wide cobblestone yard filled with horse carts and several men unloading huge bales wrapped in grey cloth. Occasionally, small feathery pieces would escape the bundles, floating over the place like forlorn snowflakes.

Impatiently, Blair used both her hands to lean on the window sill, wanting to get a better view at the large adjoining building; she could see that long rows of tiled windows lined each story, some of them opened, some of them still refracting the now fading sunlight. Through the open windows the vibrant sound of heavy machinery was audible, echoing through the walls of her chamber. She suspected that the buildings were connected in some way and that the rhythmic noises originated from some sort of textile mill. She knew that Oldham was quite famous for its cotton mills, though she had never seen one from the inside herself.

Cold realization spread through her at the thought that she didn't even know if she was still in Oldham or if she had been brought to another town, to make sure she was completely cut off from her friends, to make her completely dependent on him. The more her thoughts dwelled on what had happened to her, the angrier she became with herself for having allowed him to touch her that night at _The Lion_. She had no idea what he wanted from her and that sacred her most of all.

Loud, roaring laughter suddenly broke her reverie; the men from before, apparently having completed their work, were now talking enthusiastically to each other. She couldn't hear what they said but their playfulness made her smile for a moment. From the corner of her eye, she saw the door of one of the smaller buildings swing open, a dark-haired man stepping out slowly. Oddly, the workers stopped their animated chat immediately when they spotted him.

Blair gasped as she recognized who it was and immediately hid behind the curtain, so he wouldn't see her. A few seconds later, however, she groaned loudly at her own silliness, realizing that, of course, he would never catch a glimpse of her.

She watched him closely as he made his way across the yard towards the factory building, barely using his cane. The sleeves of his white dress shirt had been rolled up, the black cravat hanging loosened around his neck. Repeatedly, he ran his free hand through his hair, only giving a curt nod to the workers when they called to him in greeting. A few moments later he vanished through a narrow door into the factory, which was now tinged in soft shadows.

She kept staring at the closed door for a moment after he had disappeared, wondering why he had appeared so taut and tense, completely different from the man she had met at _The Lion_. She quickly shook the thought from her mind, concentrating on taking a survey of the room instead.

Now that the fading daylight illuminated the deep recesses hidden before, she noticed that the whole room appeared as if no one had occupied it for a very long time. A dark wooden dresser with a mirror and a massive wardrobe were huddled together in a corner of the room, looking clean and polished but antique. An intricate floral pattern was still recognizable on the yellowed and water-stained wallpaper; the bare wooden floor worn-in and termite eaten.

As she let her gaze wander across the bulky bed, a flash of color caught her eye. On a paltry bedside cabinet, a slim crystal vase filled with delicate but deep red poppies glowed in the hazy light. She had never much cared for them when she had seen them growing in the fields at home in Hampshire, but here, set against the darkness and coarseness of the room, they were elegant and enthralling. With as much strength as she could muster, she pushed the heavy drapes open further, not wanting the flowers to wilt away in the gloomy chamber.

Satisfied with her work, she took a few measured steps towards the wardrobe, determined to reach it without having to use the bed as a support. Though still shaky and moving like an old farmer woman, her legs felt strong enough to do her bidding. If she found something appropriate to wear, she could perhaps escape this dungeon on her own two legs. However, when she opened the armoire, she saw nothing more than two frumpy, ruffled nightgowns, even more hideous than the one she was wearing.

Huffing angrily, she shut the doors forcefully, almost hoping to break them. With growing desperation she opened the drawers of the dresser, yet, finding nothing but thick layers of dust and a strong moldy odor. When she looked up into the mirror accidentally, she almost wanted to smash it to pieces immediately, only so her reflection would disappear into tiny fragments.

She ran her hand through her hair, curling her lip in disgust as she felt how greasy it was. Her fingers grazed over her gaunt, pale skin; tired brown eyes with dark circles stared back at her, chastising her for her negligence. She turned away quickly as her features seemed to morph into her mother's disapproving frown, her throat suddenly feeling parched and drained.

Hastily, Blair made her way to the bed, reaching for the water glass. She downed the remaining drops in one gulp that soothed but did not satisfy her thirst.

She sighed loudly, searching the room for a bell she could ring, hoping to convince the servant to refill her glass. To her dismay, no bell was in sight, which shouldn't have surprised her, given that the house smelled like rotting wood and clearly belonged to a tradesman.

Contemplating whether she should just return to the bed, Blair suddenly noticed that the noise from the factory building had ceased; the only sound now reverberating across the yard was a sudden swell of human voices and feet that faded away quickly into the encroaching night.

Deciding against being idle, Blair firmly grabbed the dying candle from the bedside table, set on finding something to drink and curious to see if the rest of the house was as dreary and forlorn as her room. If she had learned anything from being a servant, it was that nothing good would come from sitting around waiting for better things to happen.

She tried to open the massive bedroom door gently; yet, as it wouldn't budge, she had to throw all of her strength into pulling it open. For a moment she had to close her eyes to endure the searing sting pulsing through her. Drawing a deep breath, she squeezed her body through the crack into the hallway, leaving the pain behind.

Several sconces had been lit close to her door, emitting a deep orange glow against the wood-paneled walls. Thick silence filled the hall, disturbed only by the soft thuds of her bare feet as she made her way to the intricately carved banister opposite her chamber. Carefully, she peered into the hall below; however, neither candles nor fireplaces had been lit, so that every corner was inhabited by cold, unyielding shadows. As her gaze traveled along the wooden railing lining the gallery, her eyes soon settled on what she suspected were the first steps of a grand staircase, leading to the lower floor.

Apprehensively, Blair walked towards the stairs, keeping one hand on the banister to guide her steps. With the dim candle in her other hand she searched for paintings or tapestries, something that would give a face to this house; yet, only lifeless, barren walls greeted her.

A shiver ran down her spine, as she finally stood atop the imposing sweeping stairs that beckoned her to enter the darkness below. Reminding herself that there was nothing to be afraid of, she took the first step, almost feeling like a queen entering the ballroom, where all her loyal subjects were already awaiting her arrival. Straightening her spine and ignoring the soft creaking sighs of the worn-down wood, she reveled in her fantasy as she descended the stairs slowly. She almost giggled to herself at her own silliness when she reached the lower landing, wishing more than anything that Serena could be at her side right now.

As her thoughts drifted to her friend, Blair wondered whether Serena even knew where she was, and if she did, why she hadn't rescued her from this predicament. She made a mental note to visit Serena as soon as she could locate her wardrobe and figure out where exactly she was. Maybe they could come up with a plan to escape this dreary place together without having to beg for Lily's assistance.

Blair walked further into the darkness of what she believed was the entrance hall, her candle allowing only the smallest parts to be discovered. The coldness from the stone floor seeped into her body as she moved alongside the walls in search of the kitchen. However, her interest was soon piqued by a wide open door close by.

Taking a furtive look behind, she quickly slipped into the room, which was shrouded in blackness like the rest of the house. Nevertheless, she recognized it instantly as a library.

Tentatively, she advanced further into the room, letting her fingers glide over the spines of the books, relishing the mixture of smooth and well-worn leather. Inhaling deeply, the musty smell of dust, old paper and wood filled her nose, reminding her of the hours she had spent with her father pouring over botanical encyclopedias. Often she had run out into the garden in the morning to collect a particularly beautiful flower, only to spend the rest of the day in the library, attempting to find its name in one of her father's books, always hoping that she had discovered an entirely new species which could be named after her.

As she held the candle up to the shelves, trying to read the titles, she recognized a few atlases and various dictionaries, some Kant and Voltaire, some Shakespeare and Dryden. All in all it seemed to be an unobjectionable and well-furnished gentleman's library, though in a pitiable state of neglect, which was perhaps not surprising considering the owner's impediment. Although unwelcome, Blair's heart ached for him at the thought of never being able to read a book again. Though not an avid reader herself, she nevertheless considered them a rare source of entertainment and escape from dull realities. It seemed almost unbearable to have that forever in your reach but at the same time never graspable.

Gently, she continued her path along the shelves; her fingers still ghosting over the swells and ridges of the volumes. Slowly, a narrow alcove emerged from the murky shadows, furnished only with a small wrought iron table where Blair set down her candle. Most of the books in this section did not bear their title on their spines, so she grabbed one from the shelf to satisfy her curiosity. Quickly, she cast a glance towards the door to see if anyone had followed her in here; however, as before no sound or breath penetrated the overwhelming stillness of the house.

Hurriedly, she opened the book at a random page, eager to see why it had been hidden away in the darkest corner of the room. Her eyes widened as she skimmed the pages, heat sweeping through her body as the images and words registered in her mind_. - Thus I stood on my head and hands, supported by him in such manner, that whilst my thighs clung round him, so as to expose to his sight all my back figure. - _She slammed the pages shut hastily, staring at it in surprise and embarrassment. Yet, after a short moment, she shook her head, letting out a disbelieving scoff at her silliness. The scar on her belly should remind her daily that she was no longer an innocent debutante. She knew what happened between men and women in the bed chamber, though, it seemed, not quite as vividly as this book was suggesting.

She placed the volume back on the shelf, swiftly pushing it back into its place. She retraced her steps to the entrance hall with haste, determined to find the kitchen before anyone discovered her. Yet, in the shadow-filled hall, she quickly realized that she had left her candle on the table in the library. As she was about to turn around and retrieve it, she heard a faint scraping noise in close proximity.

"What are you doing down here?" a gruff voice barked at her from a nearby room. Reluctantly, she approached the door, which had apparently been left ajar, her bare feet padding softly on the icy floor. Carefully, she squeezed herself through the crack, not having enough energy to fight another battle with one of those heavy doors. Like her bedroom and the library, the small salon was cloaked in darkness, though the curtains had not been drawn.

The last rich gleams of twilight delineated a familiar figure on an uncomfortable-looking settee in front of a large marble mantelpiece. He was slightly bent forward, nursing a glass filled to the brim with a murky liquid, a crystal decanter of the same contents gleaming at his feet. "You have no business being down here," he growled heatedly, turning towards her.

"Maybe I was just trying to find an escape out of this hellish den you have locked me in, Mr. Bass," Blair shot back angrily, refusing to bend to his demanding and impolite demeanor.

He turned his face back to the empty, unlit fireplace, taking an ample sip from his glass. "I didn't lock anything. You are free to go if you so please. Good luck out there."

She scoffed but still took a step towards him, adjusting her eyes to the dim light. "So you really would kick out an unprotected woman in the middle of the night?"

He let out a small, bitter laugh. "First you accuse me of being the devil and now I'm not chivalrous enough?"

Blair remained silent, mulling over her options in her head. Of course, she had no desire to find another quarter in the middle of the night but a feeling of unease spread through her body at the thought of sharing a house with a strange gentleman without proper supervision, a gentleman with whom she had engaged in entirely inappropriate activities no less.

"I don't know you," she said bluntly.

"Well, I don't know you either." Mirth laced his voice as he took another sip. "But I do know that you almost died from an old surgery wound on the floor of a brothel," he hesitated for a moment before continuing," most likely from a pregnancy gone wrong."

Blair blanched, her throat turning dry. "You can't know that," she whispered.

"My physician, who sewed you back together by the way, disclosed as much to me," he said in a bored tone, but turning his head towards her slightly. "And you just confirmed it by the shift in your voice. It's easy to hear the truth when you are not distracted by other things, Blair."

"What else do you know about me?" she bit out furiously. "And it is Miss Waldorf for you!"

He sighed, straightening his spine. "I know your name, obviously, that you are quite an accomplished young lady from the South and that you worked as a governess for the Baizens."

Anger and apprehension continued to rush through her as she watched his movements closely. "What else?"

His index finger traced the shape of the crystal glass in his hand, seemingly contemplating her question. "That is everything," he said quietly, taking another deep gulp of the murky liquid.

"I don't believe you," she said defiantly.

A small laugh escaped him, but his posture remained rigid. "Well, you shouldn't."

Blair continued to regard him wordlessly, no knowing what to do or say. She felt exposed by his extensive knowledge of her, while he was still nothing but a blurry shadow to her. She didn't know if she could trust him or why he had helped her to begin with. As the moment stretched into an uncomfortable silence, she took a small step back to leave the room.

"Stay," he said suddenly, his head snapping around towards her, "please," he added almost as an afterthought.

His frantic tone tore at her, and as much as she would have wanted to, she couldn't ignore the way he seemed to be listening for her every move. "Only if you tell me how you know all these things about me," she finally relented.

He nodded slightly. "Once I knew your name, it was not very difficult to find out the rest.

"And how do you know my name?" Blair prodded.

"The night of your accident, there was another girl and she called you Blair –"

"Serena," Blair gasped, "I have to let her know that I am all right."

He ran his free hand through his thick hair in agitation. "I already took care of that. I sent a message over to _The Lion_," he paused before continuing gently, "but she never paid a visit."

Blair shook her head violently, not believing for one second that her friend would just abandon her. "She is probably frightened to come into this gloomy house. Why, even your servants seem scared of you," she snapped.

At her words a shadow ghosted across his features, and he turned to face the cold fireplace once more. "And you are too?" he asked in a distant voice.

"No," Blair replied firmly. "But how do I know you won't take advantage of me?"

He sneered, clearly annoyed by her question. "First, I'm a blind cripple, and second, if I had wanted to do what you just insinuated, I would have had plenty of time to do so during the weeks you were unconscious, don't you think?"

"Still, you basically kidnapped me and took me to your dirty factory, which is God knows where," Blair answered indignantly. "So, I have no idea what you would or wouldn't do."

"It is a cotton mill, my dear Miss Waldorf, and we are still in Oldham," he said calmly. "And as for kidnapping you … I couldn't even carry you out of that wretched place myself. I had to ask that servant boy to help me take you to my carriage," he bit out, clearly irritated.

"Why didn't you just leave me there?" Blair asked with genuine curiosity.

Instead of answering, he just scoffed, bending down to reach for the glass decanter at his feet. With surprisingly swift movements, he refilled his glass to the top and gulped down another large sip.

"Drinking seems to be a hobby of yours," she remarked wryly.

"My, aren't you observant, Miss Waldorf," he said snidely, raising his glass in a mock toast.

Sighing deeply, she walked over to the settee slowly. As she sat down as far away from him as the space would allow, she winced slightly at the sharp pain in her stomach, letting out a soft groan. His head turned towards her immediately, setting down the tumbler on his thigh.

"How are you feeling?" he said, his voice now laced with concern.

"Humiliated," she replied dryly. She let a few moments pass before continuing, enjoying his growing uneasiness as he shifted his weight on the seat repeatedly. "What else did your physician tell you about my situation?"

He turned his face away from her, his profile protruding sharply against the waning light. "Just that it wasn't a very well executed surgery and that the wound had not been tended to properly. He said that you might have died from an infection if you hadn't fallen down that staircase."

"So, It's a good thing Mr. Baizen pushed me then," she joked.

"Carter?" he asked ominously.

She looked at him in puzzlement. "You two know each other?"

"He pushed you?" he growled in a tone that sent chills down her spine

Blair remained silent for a few minutes, observing his fingers dance in agitated circles over the glass in his hand while she contemplated how much more of her history she wanted to reveal. "It all happened so fast, so I'm not even sure he meant me to fall down the stairs," she began hesitatingly, keeping her gaze on his fingers, which were now resting tensely against the crystal tumbler. "Let's just say he wanted something from me, that I wasn't willing to give." Unwanted feelings and memories still hovered at the edge of her thoughts, threatening to eclipse her as she spoke.

Although fighting to keep her voice calm and disinterested, she knew that he had sensed her distress. She watched in fascination as his knuckles flexed, gripping the glass tightly and threatening to shatter it between his fingers.

Keeping her eyes focused on the tumbler in his hand, Blair slid across the settee until she could reach it easily. Slowly, she raised her fingers and gently placed them above his on the glass. Immediately, she felt the warmth of his body seep into her own, battling the chill that had settled into her skin. Leisurely, she laced her fingers around the glass, loosening his grasp with tender force until he let her take it from him.

Quickly, she brought the heavy crystal to her lips and took a small sip, attempting to ignore the heady scent of the alcohol. As the liquid slowly burned its way down her throat, she finally lifted her eyes to his face. To her surprise, his dark eyes were looking straight at her, an appreciative smirk playing around his lips. It almost appeared as if he was watching her, but when she raised her eyebrows in question, his features displayed no response or sign of recognition.

"Your hands are cold," he said matter-of-factly.

Blair lowered the tumbler slowly, setting it down quietly between them on the settee. "So?" she asked defiantly, slightly embarrassed that he would pay so much attention to her body.

He paused for a minute before his mouth stretched into a mischievous grin, clearly visible in the hazy rays illuminating the room. "What are you wearing?" he asked, mirth filling his voice.

She scrunched her eyebrows. "Why do you want to know that?" she asked apprehensively, remembering what his inappropriate questions had led to at their first encounter.

He shrugged nonchalantly. "I assume you are cold because you came down here in your nightgown, and given what you have allowed me to feel at _The Lion_, you surely can't blame me for wanting a detailed picture in my mind."

Though she should have expected his impertinence, she let out a disbelieving laugh. She almost wanted to splash the remaining alcohol into his face, but was stopped when his warm fingertips grazed the knuckles of her hand still clutching the half-empty glass. Like she had done earlier, he place his fingers above hers, attempting to pry the crystal from her grasp. However, when she felt the tumbler being pulled out of her grip, she tightened her hand around it, refusing to cede him territory.

When he felt her resistance, he chuckled lightly, ceasing his pull on the glass. Instead his fingertips started to trace the contours of her fingers with feather-light touches.

"Well, Mr. Bass," she tried to keep her tone light and playful, refusing to be affected by the warmth of his skin, "it's the ugliest nightgown you can imagine. I'm sure your housekeeper picked it out for me."

"She was quite scandalized by the knickers she found in your trunk," he said, mirroring her playful tone while his fingers traveled up her wrist until he found the frilly edge of her long sleeve. Slowly, he let his index finger slip under the fabric, sliding it across the skin hidden beneath.

Afraid he was mistaking the undergarment as a sign that he could take liberties with her, she yanked her arm out of his reach swiftly, thereby spilling some of the brown liquid on her nightgown. "It's not what you think, Mr. Bass," she said coldly.

He raised his hands defiantly, his face marred by a deep frown on his forehead. "No judgment, Miss Waldorf. I've heard from some acquaintances that they are quite comfortable."

"Acquaintances?" she asked incredulously.

He smiled at her response. "Yes, we are _intimate_ friends, Miss Waldorf."

She huffed loudly, turning to look at the glass in her lap. Her gaze fell to the dark stains on her cotton-clad thigh, the liquid now spreading across the garment rapidly. She raised the tumbler to her lips once more and quickly drank the remaining alcohol. She closed her eyes tightly at the warm, piercing sensation deep in her throat before placing the empty glass back between his fingers. She watched his features closely as they shifted from confusion to mild surprise at the missing weight, a satisfied smile creeping onto her face at his reaction.

"Where is my wardrobe, Mr. Bass?" she finally asked, deciding to return their conversation back to their previous topic.

His fingers resumed their habit of tracing uneven patterns on the tumbler's surface. "It is here," he answered quietly, "but I hid it in case you wanted to leave right away when you woke up."

"And you didn't want that?" she prodded frankly. He, however, said nothing, his eyes seemingly staring into the gaping blackness of the fireplace.

"Didn't you say that it was my choice?" Blair said angrily, doubt about his true intentions eating away at her once more.

"It is," he protested, almost sounding like a little boy who had just received his first scolding, "I just didn't want you to make a rash decision."

She scanned his face closely. Even in the dark of the room she could see that his jaw was set tightly. "Why did you bring me here, Mr. Bass?" she finally decided to ask the one question that had been burning inside of her since she woke up. "And I want a truthful answer this time."

He remained eerily quiet for a moment, his hands moving seemingly of their own volition to the back of his neck where they started to rub small circles. The empty glass now stood abandoned on the settee between them, threatening to fall over if either one of them stirred.

"Because I wanted you," he stated seemingly unembarrassed into the silence.

Hastily, she rose from the settee to put some space between them, thereby toppling over the tumbler, which splintered loudly on the wooden floor. "I'm not a toy you can choose to keep as you please," she snapped.

"Don't I know it," he mumbled darkly.

She shook her head. "You can't fool me with your sorry little boy act, Mr. Bass. You might be blind, but I can't trust you."

He turned his head to face her, but from her current position she could no longer read the emotions playing on his features. "I'm sorry to hear that, but I'm not sorry for what I said, Miss Waldorf," he said in a warm voice. "You asked for honesty after all."

She took another step towards the door, but hesitated before turning around completely. "I think it's better if I leave, Mr. Bass."

He stiffened slightly. "What if I offered you a job?" he asked calmly. "With good pay?"

"What kind of job?" she replied warily, assuming he would either offer her a position as his mistress or as a spinner in his mill.

"As my personal secretary."

"Secretary?" she said in disbelief, rolling her eyes.

He nodded, a soft chuckle escaping him. "Yes, Miss Waldorf, just as my secretary … unless of course you'd prefer something else?"

As she suspected that innuendoes were a repeated occurrence in a conversation with him, she decide to let it pass, tapping her foot impatiently, waiting for him to continue.

He cleared his throat. "I'm in need of someone who will help me with my business correspondence, and since it came to my attention that you are fluent in several languages, I thought you could translate my letters for me. You'd also have to read some things to me on occasion, of course."

"That's all?"

"That's all," he stated earnestly, "I will not ask you to rub my feet or change the sheets on my bed, if that's what you are afraid of."

"How much will you pay me?" she shot back in a business like tone. Having already negotiated her salary with Martha, she felt confident in challenging him, to see how much he would be willing to offer.

He cocked his head to the side, seemingly contemplating her question with great care. "Well, the good Mrs. Hale from _The Lion_ told me that you demanded £4 from her. So I thought I would double it?"

Blair let out a small gasp. "£8 per year? For a servant position? Can you afford that?"

"Let that be my concern, Miss Waldorf. The more important question is whether you will accept my offer?"

She pondered his proposal, weighing her options. She did not want to return to _The Lion_, but after everything she had experienced at the Baizens, she refused to accept this employment on good faith. "I'm afraid I have a few more requests Mr. Bass," she replied sternly. "If you truly want me to stay, I require a personal chamber maid, full access to your library, a bedroom with a lock, and if you no longer want to employ me, you need to find me another suitable position. Also, I want the terms of our agreement to be written down in a legal document of which we'll both have a copy and which can only be changed with both our consent."

"That's all?" he asked in mock astonishment. "You don't want me to bring you breakfast in bed?"

"That's all, ," she said, her tone serious. "These terms are not negotiable."

Slowly, he rose from his place on the settee, walking towards her with surprisingly steady steps given his intake of alcohol. The shattered glass crunched under his shoes as he advanced. "As a lady from the South, you are probably not used to this, but let's shake hands on it." A few feet in front of her he came to halt, holding up his hand for her to take. "Deal?"

For a moment she truly wondered what else she could request if he was this determined to keep her around but chose not push her luck. She was sure that no better work offer would fall into her lap any time soon, and although she did barely know him, she felt that he was a man that kept to his words.

Before being able to rethink her decision, she quickly took his offered hand, gripping it firmly. "Deal, Mr. Bass," she said, keeping her voice steady.

Before she could pull her hand out of his grasp, he lifted it towards his lips, placing a soft kiss on her knuckles, creating an odd thrilling sensation in her body. As he lifted his head, his quiet breath tickled the hairs on her skin, compelling her to withdraw her hand abruptly. "Goodnight, Mr. Bass," she added decidedly, taking a small step away from him.

He inclined his head in response, remaining silent as she stayed frozen to the ground in front of him. "I will talk to you tomorrow then, Miss Waldorf," he said with a sudden cold detachment that jolted her. Lazily, he turned away from her to walk back into the deep shadows of the room.

Her heart thumping loudly, she retracted her steps to the staircase, only looking behind her when she had reached the upper landing. However, the silent darkness smothered every sound and movement with a thick, impenetrable blanket, making it impossible for her to know whether Mr. Bass was standing in the doorframe, listening to her retreating steps or was already downing the remaining alcohol.


	6. Paper Glass

**VI. Paper Glass**

Blair woke up the next morning to a loud knock at her door. Attempting to block out the unwelcome sound, she tried to move her body to face away from the door. A sharp sting in her stomach burned through her sleep-filled mind, denying her all chances of ignoring the heavy noise. Rolling onto her back, she groaned angrily, wrapping her arms around her body tightly. After last night, she had wanted to avoid further unsettling meetings with Mr. Bass for as long as possible; so she had planned to keep to her room, pleading exhaustion and a need for further recovery. But she knew with scorching certainty that her period of grace had come to an end.

From the corner of her eye she saw the door being opened slowly, revealing Miss Scott carrying a pile of colorful fabric. "Time to get up, Miss. The Master is expecting you downstairs for breakfast when you are dressed," the housekeeper said gruffly, nodding to the bundle in her arms as she dropped it onto the bed without ceremony. With heavy steps she moved through the room, drawing open the drapes with violent eagerness. Satisfied, Blair noticed the flash of anger flitting across the servant's as she noticed that Blair had opened the window without her consent.

"What time is it?" Blair groaned, shielding her face against the pale morning light.

"Already 6 o'clock, Miss," the servant replied curtly.

"Does your Master want to torture me?" Blair said flippantly, pressing her palms to her eyes.

"Life at a mill starts early, Miss," the housekeeper said solemnly; however, Blair didn't miss the displeased edge in her voice. Withdrawing her hands from her face, she caught Miss Scott staring out of the open window onto the courtyard below. A myriad of dull voices drifted up to pierce the stifling silence of the room. "The mill workers are already starting their shift," the servant said sharply, refusing to meet Blair's eyes.

Ignoring the raw sensation in her stomach, she tried to sit up against the pillow as gracefully and poised as possible. "What are you trying to tell me, Miss Scott?" Blair asked sharply. "And please, don't be shy."

"I'm not sure what kind of _deal_ you have made with Mr. Bass or why he wastes his hard-earned money on you," the housekeeper said with obvious disgust in her voice. "Nor do I care what you did in your former occupation," she spat, curling her lips at the last word, "but as long as I'm the housekeeper here, you'll get up when it pleases me."

Furiously, Blair drew back the blanket, biting her tongue in pain as she scrambled out of the bed. However, yet again she had to hold on to the bedpost to keep from fainting, taking deep breaths to steady herself. While trying to regain her composure, Blair's gaze fell on the poppies on her bedside table. To her surprise the blossoms no longer stood proud and glowing as they did the night before, instead, their delicate heads hung weak and withered although the vase was still brimming with water.

Clearing her throat, Blair straightened her posture, fixing her eyes on the other woman's profile. "You shouldn't challenge me, my dear Miss Scott," she said coldly, "because I believe at the end of the day Mr. Bass would choose my assets over yours."

The housekeeper finally turned around, meeting Blair's eyes with meek deliberateness. "Then, why don't you assert your power and have me removed?" she sneered.

"A disgraced servant? There would be nowhere for you to go but the whorehouse," Blair replied with a hard edge to her voice, the reality of her own life crawling up inside of her.

Miss Scott held Blair's gaze for a moment, before nodding almost imperceptible, her features stern and unyielding. She moved past Blair towards the door, stopping short before opening it and pointing to the bed. "Mr. Bass sent up these dresses for you to wear. He said they would be more comfortable for you."

Blair stepped around to the lower end of the bed, grabbing a piece of silky green fabric from the colorful heap. As it unfolded softly in her hands, she realized with a gasp that it was one of the French dresses Serena had always been talking about; the fabric gathered just above the waist by a ribbon,allowing the delicate material to flow freely around ones figure. Holding the gown up against the timid morning light, she marveled at how the sun seemed to be illuminating the garment from within, reminding her of the deep forest lake Serena had pushed her into once. As she smiled at the memory, she realized that one would be able to see much more than the sun in this dress.

"I can't wear these dresses," Blair said, flinging the garment back onto the bed as if burned. "They are almost translucent."

"I'm sure that's nothing new to you, Miss," the housekeeper jeered as she walked towards the bed. "But I suggest," she continued as she rummaged through the pile, "that you wear a shift and –," she held up a stiff crème-colored garment, "these short stays under the dress."

Blair took the unfamiliar piece of clothing from the servant, fingering it uncertainly. She knew that Serena would not hesitate a second when asked to wear these dresses, not think one second about the repercussions, about what people might say; but Blair could already hear the horrified whispers behind her back, feel the judgmental stares on her body; and she was terrified to take that plunge.

"I want to wear my own wardrobe," she commanded.

"Mr. Bass said –"

"I don't care what he said," Blair hissed in return. "Bring me my wardrobe immediately."

"Mr. Bass said," the housekeeper continued in a bored tone, moving once more towards the door, "that you will get your old wardrobe as soon as you scar is fully healed."

Fury boiled up inside of her at the thought of her own powerlessness and dependence on the whims of a tradesman. "Move out of the way," Blair seethed, "I need to speak to Mr. Bass." She glared at the servant menacingly, daring her to object.

Reluctantly, the housekeeper stepped to the side to let her pass, her eyes filled with apprehension. Ignoring her, Blair quickly walked out onto the gallery as she had done the previous night. To her surprise, nothing had changed. The hall was still dark, not even a figment of daylight dissolving the deep shadows.

"Miss Waldorf?" she heard the servant's uncertain voice behind her. "You can't go down like this."

In response, Blair moved further down the corridor towards the staircase, the sound of her naked feet reverberating soundly on the coarse floor boards. Hastily, she took one step after another, grasping the banister roughly to keep herself from stumbling. Her breath growing ragged, she clasped her stomach with her free hand until she finally felt the unwelcome chill of the entrance hall's marble floor touch her skin. With hesitation, she scanned the surrounding area for any sign of life; however, the nocturnal silence still pervaded the space. As she looked back up the stairs, she recognized the dark silhouette of the housekeeper, frozen on the landing, watching her. So she turned her head defiantly, marching into the shadows behind the staircase.

Hidden in a small alcove, she spotted a sliver of bright light cutting into the marble floor. Slowly, she approached the door, hearing the faint sound of clinking metal and porcelain. She pushed it open gently, attempting to peer inside without being seen. Her gaze immediately fell onto the dark angular figure, backlit majestically by a large front of paneled windows hiding behind transparent silvery drapes. He was perched at the far end of a voluminous dining table, the paltry crockery and silverware almost vanishing against the charcoal wood.

"Good Morning, Miss Waldorf," he greeted her before she had fully entered the room.

She opened the door further, scrutinizing his face as she stepped forward. "How did you know –?"

He grabbed the white napkin next to his plate, dabbing his mouth swiftly before turning his upper body to face her, resting his left arm on the chair's back. "Not many of my servants storm down the stairs with their feet bare," he said with an amused expression, "nor did I hear the rustling of muslin, which suggests that, unlike my servants, you are either naked or are still wearing your nightgown."

"I'm not in the mood for your lewd remarks," Blair hissed, putting her hands on her hips.

"And may I ask why?"

To Blair's annoyance, he still seemed unfazed by her anger. "Your lovely housekeeper woke me up," she replied pertly.

"I was wondering why you were up so early," he said quietly, knitting his eyebrows. "I will have to talk to her about it," he added almost apologetically.

"No," she said quickly, remembering her earlier conversation with the servant. "That's not important." She let her arms fall to her sides, taking a deliberate step into the room. "What's important is that you can't make me wear those dresses." She let her voice grow louder to show him that she wasn't to be trifled with.

"You don't like them?" he asked nonchalantly, making her even more furious.

"No!" she all but yelled.

"Why not?" he shrugged, "they are everything a fashionably young lady such as yourself might crave and certainly more beneficial to your health."

She let out an exasperated sigh, barely refraining from stomping her foot. "Because they are not my own."

"Well now they are, Miss Waldorf." He turned his body back towards the table as if dismissing her, but continued after a short pause, "I presume that you didn't buy these other dresses with your own money either, did you? According to Miss Scott they are far too expensive for a woman of your station."

She dipped her head daringly, crossing her arms over stomach. "So?"

"So, I don't see why the dresses bought by me should be met with so much abhorrence?" he said, his fingers playing with the napkin still clenched in his palm. "Maybe you haven't seen the nightgowns yet?"

She huffed indignantly. "They are indecent and decadent, Mr. Bass."

He threw the cloth onto the polished table, leaning back in his chair. "And you don't want to be these things?" he asked with what she believed was both genuine curiosity and ridicule.

She fixed her eyes on him to gauge his reaction, "I don't appreciate being made into your whore."

His head snapped up at her words, his eyebrows drawn together in confusion. "That's not what I –"

"You know what people will say about me, what they are saying already." She fought the tears rising to her eyes, determined to make him understand.

He set his jaw into a hard line, nodding slightly. "Why do you care what people think?" His tone was gentle but heated. "Apparently you don't mind wandering about my house without shoes and only your night shift on."

"That's different," she replied pertly.

"Why?" his voice was still soft, but there was an unspoken, yearning edge to it that she attempted to ignore.

She opened her mouth to answer, but halted as she didn't know what to reply. Of course he couldn't see her, but this thought hadn't actually crossed her mind when she had stormed down the stairs to vent her anger.

For a short moment she saw his features harden, before he turned his attention back towards the table, slowly reaching for the handle of his teacup. Yet, he did not lift it to his lips, just traced the delicate porcelain structure with his index finger. "People _will_ talk, no matter what you do, Miss Waldorf," he stated dispassionately, bitterness lacing his voice. "Still, it's not worth risking your health for them." He finally raised the cup to his mouth, drinking a small sip, a fleeting smile playing across his lips. "How about we make a deal?"

"What kind of deal?" she asked warily.

"Why don't you sit down first and have some breakfast?" he pushed back his chair to rise, reaching across the table to draw out the chair next to him. However, his sudden movement toppled a silver basket filled with fruit, red apples and cherries now spilling onto the stained wooden floorboards.

She heard him curse under his breath and moved to pick up the forlorn fruit, but he swiftly held up his hand to stop her. "No, you are not here to be my nursemaid," he bit out angrily, "I'm quite able to manage this on my own." He grabbed a silver bell next to his plate and rung it violently.

Only moments later, a frail-looking elderly man in a black livery appeared in the door. "Yes, Master," he murmured obediently.

Mr. Bass slumped back into his chair dramatically. "Clean up the mess on the floor," he growled, "and lay the table for Miss Waldorf."

"Yes, Sir," the servant bowed, stepping into the room without sparing Blair a glance or a nod. She didn't know if she should be affronted by his incivility or grateful that he didn't acknowledge her state of undress. She watched him silently as he grasped the toppled basket and knelt down slowly to pick up the strewn fruit. From his posture she could tell that he struggled with the task, which was apparently too strenuous for his age. Unsure of what to do, she bent down to retrieve a cherry from the floor and held it up to him as passed her to leave the room. He stopped short and grabbed the fruit from her fingers without meeting her eye. Keeping his head low, he quickly vanished into the hall.

"Please sit down, Miss Waldorf," Mr. Bass repeated, his tone now composed.

Blair advanced slowly, choosing the chair he had wanted to draw out for her. Feeling uncomfortable, she sat down on the furthest edge.

They remained for a moment in uneasy silence as she watched him adjust his cravat and vest with meticulous precision. "You said you had some sort of deal?" she finally asked.

His somber face lit up as an appreciative smirk twisted his mouth. "Ah, yes, I quite forgot." He turned in his seat to face her, his left hand remaining on the table, toying idly with a resplendent teaspoon. "I'll give you back your wardrobe immediately, but only if you promise to wear only your new dresses for the next two weeks, including undergarments," he twirled the spoon between his fingers, "until your wound has healed properly."

"What is it to you?" she asked brashly.

"Well, for one, I spent a lot of money on having you sewn back together, and I would hate to lose such a valuable employee as yourself," his grin grew wider, eyes twinkling with mirth.

She couldn't help but let out a laugh as she watched his joy at the silliness of his own statement.

In fascination her eyes glided over his smiling face; his skin seemed almost ashen against the dark shadows of his hair and waistcoat, his features revealing an odd mixture of boyish exuberance and the intense wariness of adulthood.

He angled his head towards her "Are you watching me, Miss Waldorf?"

She quickly averted her eyes, blushing profusely, but was saved from answering by the reentrance of the old servant, carrying a silver tray with another set of breakfast plates and bowls. Setting it down on the table next to her, he busied himself with arranging the delicate china before her.

"How would you like your tea, Miss?" the servant finally addressed her gravely, keeping his eyes fixed on the teapot.

"Just milk, no sugar," she answered politely.

He nodded his head in acknowledgement, fixing her tea with a severe expression. Having finished this procedure, he bowed curtly and hurried out of the room.

"I believe your butler doesn't like me, Mr. Bass," Blair said, lacing her voice with sarcasm.

He reached across his plate, feeling for the richly filled breadbasket. When he had found it, he lifted it up towards her, ordering her silently to help herself. Swiftly, she snatched the topmost piece of white bread from the pile, placing it before her daintily. "No, I believe none of my servants likes you," he stated, setting the basket back down onto the dark wood. "But their thoughts don't concern me."

She nodded, absentmindedly ripping a small piece of the bread off with her fingers. Realizing what she was doing, she hastily stuffed the morsel into her mouth, chewing it hastily.

"Maybe you should try a piece of ham or some marmalade with that," he stated wryly.

She swallowed the dry bread heavily, grasping her tea cup with both hands to wash down the remains.

He chuckled lightly as he listened to her struggle. "Now, what of my proposition? Do you accept the terms?"

Blair was at war with herself; even if his argument was convincing, she could not yield so easily. "Only if we add it as an addendum to our contract," she said earnestly, knowing that it was a weak attempt at deferring his pleasure at having won.

He nodded, trying to hide the shy triumphant smile on his face. "Can't you just take my word on it?"

"You know I cannot, Mr. Bass," she said half serious, half joking. "Now, when can I sign this wretched document?"

"My lawyer will have it ready in the afternoon, but in the meantime you might enjoy a stroll through the mill?"

"Why would I?" she asked bewildered.

"Because," he emphasized, "it pays your wages, and if you want to work here, you should have some knowledge of how the business works."

Despite his stern countenance, she still suspected that he was jesting with her. "But what of your workers? Won't they object to having a lady there?"

He laughed. "I can assure you that they have seen plenty of women already."

He lifted the teacup to his mouth once more, draining it with a large gulp. "Now, eat up, Miss Waldorf, and get dressed," he said while rising from the table. "I'll meet you in half an hour in the entrance hall."

"Half an hour?" she sputtered. "That's not enough time for –"

"Then you'll have to get used to it. In the North, time is money. We don't have time to be idle around here," he threw at her jovially as he walked towards the door, clearly enjoying himself. "And don't fret about your appearance. I won't see your efforts anyway."

She bristled, almost wanting to grab the piece of bread on her plate and throw it as his head – hard.

"You'll be sorry, you can't see them," she yelled after him, hearing his low chuckle in the hall.

Angrily, she started moving the discarded bread around the plate with her fork. She swirled it around in circles, contemplating whether she could find a way around the wardrobe deal they had just struck. Like he said, he wouldn't even know what she was wearing. However, as the butler stepped into the room once more, it occurred to her that Mr. Bass had enough watchful eyes to track her every move and misstep.

She remained seated as the old man busied himself with cleaning the table, not even asking if she was done. Frustrated, she let her fork clatter onto the table, but still the servant did not even flinch.

"I was not finished," she bit out.

"I apologize, Miss," he said, but continued with his work, "but I'm unsure about the procedure when women of questionable circumstances eat at the Master's table."

She rose from her chair in irritation. "Well, you should get used to it then, because I'll be here for more than just one night," she said with a conviction she didn't feel. As she turned around and marched up the stairs, she knew she wanted to prove to them – and him – that she was more than a charity case, more than a dutiful, doe-eyed personal secretary.

As she entered her room and surveyed the mess of fabric on her bed, Mr. Bass's words from before echoed in her mind as loudly as the drumming of the machines from the now awoken mill. _Why do you care what people think?_

"Because," she spoke to herself while picking up a low cut carmine-colored dress, "that's what people do," she growled, flinging it onto the floor forcefully. She was breathing heavily, her fingers unbuttoning her night gown furiously. She ignored the taut pull of skin on her stomach as she shrugged out of the garment. Refusing to glance at her pale body in the mirror over the dresser, she scoured the pile of silk and muslin for the appropriate undergarments. She quickly found a white cotton shift that she slipped over her head, letting it slide down her body; the chill of the morning air having settled so deep into the fabric that she shivered.

She rummaged once more through the clothes on her bed until her fingers met the stiff structure of the corset. In wonderment, Blair held it up to her body, realizing that it didn't cover much more than her chest. She was sure that even Serena hadn't worn such a scandalous piece of clothing. She fingered the white laces for a moment, which were to be tied in the front, before cautiously slipping her arms through the sleeves.

As her eyes caught the edge of her reflection in the dresser mirror, she let her gaze linger tentatively on her gangly hair and sunk-in face. With a sigh she trained her eyes on her upper body, starting to lace herself fiercely, almost ripping the satin ribbons. Satisfied with her work, she braided her hair tightly, no curl escaping her severe ministrations. She grabbed a towel from the dresser, drowning it in the cold water of the wash basin for a minute before rubbing her face roughly, trying to add some color to her gaunt cheeks.

As she measured her reflection once more, now rosy and kempt, she attempted to split her lips into a smile, which resulted in nothing more than a crooked smirk. Huffing with annoyance, she turned towards the bed, scanning the dresses for a color that would flatter her skin most and was not too daring.

Pushing listlessly through the choices, her fingers suddenly swept over a soft deep-blue muslin gown. She spread it out on the bed to admire its elegant simplicity and cut; the gown had almost no embellishments, except for a red lace sash, tied below the breast.

Carefully, she opened the buttons at the back, and stepped into the dress, pulling it up over her arms. She regarded herself in the mirror as she tied the sash at the back tightly, her skin appearing to glow in contrast to the dark hue of the fabric. If she was honest with herself she had to admit that the corset and dress were more pleasant to wear than her own, but she would rather cut off her tongue than let him know that he had been right all along.

With a content smile at her image she reached behind her head to close the row of buttons at the back of her gown, but the sudden sharp pain piercing her body reminded her that she would need help for this task. Letting out an exasperated sigh as she remembered that the room was missing a bell, she quickly slid into her leather slippers and stepped towards the door, reaching for the handle.

However, her gaze fell on a familiar object next to the door she hadn't seen when she had entered the room earlier. It was her trunk. Though she wondered for a moment if it had been there this morning or if Mr. Bass had it brought back to her room after breakfast, she was still pleased that he had kept to his word, even if she was angry at herself for having discovered the trunk after having already tried on one of the other dresses.

Slowly, she knelt down, opening the heavy lid, heat rising to her cheeks as she noticed that her knickers and undergarments were perched neatly on top of her gowns, a clear reminder that Miss Scott had perused her wardrobe. With a huff, Blair grabbed the knickers and slipped into them, pulling them up under her dress. Satisfied with her act of insurgence, she straightened her dress and posture to resume her quest for a helping hand.

She cracked her door open a few inches and peered into the hallway, hoping to see the disapproving features of the housekeeper somewhere in the corridor.

However, instead of the servant, she noticed bright sunlight streaming into the gallery through an open door to her right. Quietly, she left her room and approached the hazy rays that illuminated the dust particles twirling gracefully above the cracked floorboards.

Stepping into the light, she was blinded at first by its brightness and warmth; quickly shielding her eyes with her hand, she walked further into the room. As her eyes adjusted, she realized that she was in another bedroom, this one decorated with dark brown wallpaper that already came off the wall at several spots, the corners curling into themselves. As her gaze swept over the four poster bed, which looked similar to hers, her eyes came to rest upon an erect figure at the open double window, clad now in a black knee-length overcoat, his arms crossed in front of his body. He seemed to be listening to the cacophony of bustling humans and hissing machines, not noticing her entry.

Yet, he turned his head slightly towards her. "Are you ready, Miss Waldorf?" he said with an irritated tone. "It took you long enough."

"I was actually in search of your housekeeper to help me button up my gown," she answered calmly. "I know it doesn't matter to you how I look, but I like to be dressed decently."

"Come here, I can do it just as well. It will save us some time," he grumbled, gesturing for her to step closer.

She hesitated for a moment, knowing that his touches were never innocent; however, a sly smile crept unto her face as she sensed a chance to best him at his own game. Walking towards him, she pulled on the sleeves of the dress to reveal more of the skin on her back.

She stopped short in front of him, letting him feel her presence for a few second, before turning around slowly. "The button row starts a little below my neck, if that's easier for you to find," she stated politely.

He chuckled and his breath hit the skin on the back of her neck. "I've unbuttoned enough ladies dresses, Miss Waldorf. I'm sure I can find my way."

She felt him skim the fabric of the dress until he had found the lowest pearl button. Tentatively, his fingers edged upwards along the button row without touching her skin. Quietly, Blair took a step backwards, until his knuckles brushed against her skin. She heard his breath hitch softly, and noticed him withdraw his hands immediately, as if stung.

She couldn't help but smile at his reaction, but chose to appear oblivious. She wanted to tease him a bit longer.

"This is one of the dresses you gave my, by the way. It's dark blue and makes my complexion glow very prettily, I think." She bit her lip to keep the mirth out of her voice.

"Oh?" he stated, resuming his work. It seemed as if his rough fingers now brushed her skin more deliberately, causing her to shiver involuntarily.

"Yes, and it has a wonderful neckline," Blair added.

"Is that true?" he replied, his voice sounding distracted as he closed the uppermost bottom. His fingers itched lightly along the edge of the fabric just below the base of her neck. His hands came to rest on the top of her shoulders, and she felt him take a step closer, his lips softly brushing the hair on her neck, but not quite touching her. Absentmindedly, she tilted her head slightly; however, when she realized what she was doing, she twisted out of his grasp hastily.

She took a silent breath to calm herself, smoothing down her dress nervously, before she looked back up at his face. His features were composed, only a small frown crinkling his forehead, his hands now hidden behind his back.

"Thank you for your help," she said steely, "watching you lose your countenance is most entertaining, Mr. Bass."

To her disappointment, his expression didn't shift except for a sly smirk curling his lips. "Well played, Miss Waldorf." He bowed his head in recognition.

She crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Shouldn't we go now? I'm most eager to see your mill," she said caustically.

He opened his mouth to answer, but a noise from the door stopped him. Blair swirled around and caught Miss Scott's eyes darting from her to Mr. Bass and back again before she finally spoke. "Excuse me, Mr. Bass, Lady Baizen is downstairs and wishes to speak to Miss Waldorf."

Blair's eyes widened at the mention of her former Mistress, almost believing herself to be in a bad dream.

"Lady Baizen?" Blair said quietly, shaking her head. "What does she want?

"What should I tell her, Mr. Bass?" Miss Scott said, ignoring Blair's question. "She did not state her suit."

"Miss Waldorf?" Blair heard him address her and turned back to face him. "Do you want to meet her or should I send her away?" His demeanor seemed unfazed, but his jaw was set tight.

She knew that he would respect her wishes, but when she caught Miss Scott's probing gaze she understood that refusing to meet Lady Baizen would only fuel people's belief that she was a woman of questionable morals.

"Thank you, Mr. Bass," she said warmly, watching a small smile flit across his face. She turned her gaze directly to the housekeeper, "I will gladly meet Lady Baizen."

"Show Lady Baizen to the salon then, Miss Scott," Mr. Bass ordered. Blair gave the woman another pointed glare as she scurried away.

"You don't have to prove a point, Miss Waldorf. Least of all to Miss Scott," Mr. Bass said sternly.

"Don't I?" Blair questioned, starting to move towards the door.

"You can meet me later in the mill. You can ask the workers where to find me," he called after her.

"I will, Mr. Bass," she answered over her shoulder as she exited the bedroom. For a moment she hesitated in the doorstep looking back at him, a dark blurry shadow disappearing against the stark light. She felt the urge to say something else to him, but nothing seemed sensible enough. Instead, she just watched him step towards the window once more before she turned silently to walk down the badly-lit hallway and staircase.

Since she didn't know where the salon was, she headed towards the only open door she could see, which was the room where she had met Chuck the night before. When she entered it, she was surprised at how much decay the daylight revealed, the darkened wallpapers and worn-down furniture clearly in need of attention or replacement. The floor, at least, had been cleaned of the glass shards, but she could still smell the alcohol that had spilled into its gaps and cracks.

Lady Baizen was throned on the threadbare settee, which, Blair presumed, had once been a bright rose color, but was now tinged with grey. Remaining silent, she advanced toward the other woman, waiting to be acknowledged. However, Lady Baizen's gaze was sweeping the mantelpiece and walls. "It hasn't changed much since I was here last," she murmured softly.

"Lady Baizen," Blair stated coldly, the other woman's eyes now settling on her. "I can't imagine what brought you here."

Lady Baizen cleared her throat, rising from her seat, her features composed into a serene mask. "Miss Waldorf, I'm glad that you are well. I heard about –"

"Can we please forego the pleasantries?" Blair interrupted, caring very little whether she was being rude. "I know that you are not here to inquire after my health."

The other women inclined her head wordlessly, her grey eyes flickering uncertainly for a short moment. "Very well, Miss Waldorf," she said, turning away and walking towards the fireplace. She swept her index finger over the mantelpiece and wrinkled her nose as she examined the dirt on her hand. "You should know that I wish I didn't have to come here, given your new circumstances," she made a wide sweeping gesture towards the room, before once more turning to face Blair, "but I'm afraid the events of last night make it a necessity."

"I don't follow, Lady Baizen," Blair said impatiently.

Lady Baizen raised her chin as if preparing for a fight. "My husband suffered a leg wound last night, and is now bedridden."

Blair raised her eyebrow in surprise. "I don't care in the least about your husband," she said with as much disdain as she could muster.

"But maybe you care about Kathy," Lady Baizen stated.

Blair stayed silent, not knowing how to respond, which Lady Baizen took as a sign to continue.

"Since you left, she has barely said a word and I found here playing in the ruins more than once," she said darkly, shifting her eyes to the dry ashes in the hearth. "And with my husband's current condition, I have no time to take of her all day long."

"Why not hire another governess then?" Blair replied, feigning disinterest, despite the uneasiness settling into her bones.

"I did," she bit out, her voice hard, "but there is no way to get through to her and –" she cleared her throat, straightening her spine to glance at Blair, "I'm afraid for her."

"So?" Blair shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly though she heard her own voice cracking.

Lady Baizen took a small step towards Blair, scrutinizing her with sharp eyes. "I would like you to be Kathy's governess again, at least until my husband has recovered."

"I'll never again set foot into your house, Lady Baizen," Blair responded calmly, shaking her head.

The other woman nodded thoughtfully, twisting her wedding ring around her finger idly. "I had foreseen that, Miss Waldorf. And that's why I propose you teach Kathy here," she said, her eyes almost hopeful.

"What about Mr. Baizen? Won't he object?" Blair asked warily.

Lady Baizen set her mouth into a thin line. "I guess he would, Miss Waldorf. But he will never know."

Blair opened her mouth to agree to the proposed conditions, but swallowed her reply as she remembered that she was not Mistress of this house and, thus, it was not her place to make decisions of this nature. "I already have new employment here, Lady Baizen, and I can't decide this without Mr. Bass's approval."

Lady Baizen's eyes narrowed. "Of course," she bit out with a strained smile, "you and Mr. Bass can decide on the compensation."

"I don't care about your money," Blair replied coldly. Still, she sighed in defeat, finding it difficult to refuse her former mistress's proposition entirely. She knew that Lady Baizen wouldn't have approached her if the situation wasn't dire, and she decided that she'd rather face Mr. Bass's wrath than risk Kathy being sent to a reformatory school.

Eventually, Blair nodded silently. "I'll send you a note with the details once I've talked to Mr. Bass."

"Thank you," Lady Baizen replied curtly, inclining her head. She started to walk across the room, but stopped close to Blair. "I have a letter for you, Miss Waldorf," she said, reaching into the side pocket of her dress. "It arrived after you left."

Blair took it hesitantly from Lady Baizen's hand, waiting until she heard the other woman's shoes echo through the entryway. Softly, she turned the heavy paper between her fingers, noticing the familiar looking handwriting and crest on the green wax seal.

She slid her fingers under the sharp paper edge, applying enough pressure to break the seal. Unfolding the letter, she hastily scanned the writing for the sender's name and was both relieved and disappointed to find that her supposition had been correct.

With a quick look over her shoulder to make sure she was not being watched by the servants, she stepped closer to the light streaming through the window.

_My dearest Blair,_

_I hope that you have settled in well into your new position. At least as well is it possible in such circumstances as these. _

_I came to write you because it recently came to my knowledge that your husband's family has all but finalized the divorce settlements, which may alternately fill you with dread or relief. I assume that news of it will be posted in the papers shortly and I wanted to put you on your guard, since such news often travels fast and far._

_I'm not sure I should tell you, but as it is wont to happen in London, I met your husband at a dinner a few nights ago. He inquired after your whereabouts, but, as by your request, I declined to answer his question._

_Draw courage, my dear. You are yet young and beautiful, and in a few years' time, you may yet find an honorable man that will love you despite your history. And I'm sure your dear parents will come to the same conclusion as well._

_Please let me know immediately if you hear anything about my daughter, and if you do, tell her that I will welcome her back with open arms and without questions._

_Affectionately yours,_

_Lily van der Woodsen_

Blair's eyes lingered on the last sentence, envy and yearning piercing her until her eyes started to burn. Though the news of the impending divorce stung deeply, it was not unexpected. However, that the bearer of this unfortunate information had to be Lily and not her own parents felt unbearable unjust and painful. If Lily could excuse Serena's questionable choices and still love her, why couldn't her own mother and father not find the strength to forgive her for something she had no power in choosing?

Quickly, she wiped the non-existent tears from her eyes, straightening her posture. Staring at the gap between the half-drawn curtains, she crumpled the paper between her hands ferociously. A gleam of red outside the window caught her attention. Curiously, she lifted the drapes to the side until she glimpsed the shadows and shades of a small enclosed court, overgrown with yellow grass and weak brambles. A row of blazing poppies was sprinkled alongside the brick walls, seemingly out of place, eclipsing their surroundings effortlessly.

To her surprise, she could see no door leading out to the enclave; bewildered she stepped back, expecting to see a French door nearby, but again she was being disappointed. Apparently, the court could only be entered by some hidden door or by climbing through a window.

"Is there anything you need help with, Miss?" a tired male voice interrupted her speculations.

Letting the curtain fall into place and modeling her lips into perfect smile, she turned around to face the stern features of the butler, while keeping the hand with Lily's letter hidden behind her back. The servant did not look interested in her answer at all, but was obviously perturbed by her unattended presence.

"Actually, I was wondering, if there is an access to this small court?" she said sweetly, hoping to charm her way into an answer.

"The Master is waiting for you, Miss. You'll find him in the mill office," he said, bowing his head slightly and gesturing towards the hall.

Blair gave him a tight smile in return, but did not move. "I'll be there in a minute."

She though she caught a wry smirk on his face before he bowed again and retreated without saying another word.

Satisfied that the butler had caved to her, Blair strolled towards the door, her gaze sweeping the room in search of a flame to burn the letter from Lily. She knew it was only a matter of time till the news would spread to Oldham, but she wanted to delay her immanent doom for as long as possible.

To her chagrin, she found the fireplace empty and gaping, and the candle wicks cold. Quickly, she ventured out into the hallway, where she spotted a burning candleholder in a small recess close to the main entrance. As she approached the flickering light, she felt as if she was being watched by the shadows surrounding her, although no breath or sound penetrated the silence. She hesitated. Instead of burning the paper here, in plain sight, she decided to wait until a better opportunity would present itself. Thus, she slid the letter into her cleavage quietly, cursing the fact that this dress had no hidden purses as the rough paper scraped along her skin.

Disappointed with herself for succumbing to paranoia, Blair pulled on the handle of the wooden entrance door. It creaked painfully as she wrenched it open far enough to squeeze herself through it. Immediately, blinding white light assaulted her face, forcing tears to her eyes. Shielding herself with her arm, Blair blinked heavily, until moving dark forms and a whir of voices came into focus.

Feeling warmth spread over her skin like a soft blanket, Blair realized that she was standing in the middle of the sunlit mill courtyard. A few men close by were unloading bales of cotton from a cart, eying her unabashedly. She let her gaze sweep over the yard uncertainly, hoping to see the familiar features of Mr. Bass among the dirtied, roughened faces staring back at her.

"Excuse me," she called out them and couldn't help but smile as they immediately stood up straight. Pleased that basic manners could be found even in this uncouth corner of England, she approached them, watching as one of the men took off his hat, giving her a small nod.

Although she had learned from Mr. Baizen that shaking hands was considered to be polite, she couldn't bring herself to hold out her hand. Instead, she curtseyed, batting her eyelashes invitingly, like Serena had taught her.

"Would you be so kind as to show me to Mr. Bass's office?" she asked softly. "I'm Miss Waldorf, his new personal secretary."

The man who had taken off his hat, stepped forward promptly, offering her his arm. "With pleasure, Miss," he said with a strong Northern accent and a warm twinkle in his eyes. She noticed the other workers share silent looks before returning to busy themselves with the bales.

"That's not necessary, Henderson," a sharp, booming voice cut in. A tall but thickset figure squeezed itself in between Blair and the workers. "I think Mr. Bass would rather that I take care of Miss Waldorf." He turned to address Blair, taking pains to block her view of the working men "Excuse them, Miss, they rarely see a finely dressed lady such as yourself."

She smiled tightly in response. "And may I ask who you are?"

His rather pleasant looking face turned an ugly shady of red at her question, and he almost keeled over in an attempt to bow in front of her. "Forgive me, Miss, I'm the overseer Mr. Linton."

She inclined her head gracefully. "Please show me the way then, Mr. Linton. I'll follow you."

Blair was relieved when he didn't offer her his arm, but scurried on towards a small grey side building with narrow windows to each side of the door. As she looked back towards the cart, the man called Henderson caught her eye and shrugged apologetically, which she returned with a thankful nod.

Mr. Linton opened the door for her with a dramatic arm movement, gesturing for her to step into the dusty, ill-lit cottage. Warily, she entered the building, which consisted of no more than one room, filled with several sagging shelves, a massive paper cluttered desk and an uncomfortable looking high-backed chair. A teakettle steamed on a black cast iron stove next to the shelves, making the air unbearably stifling, but didn't keep Mr. Linton from closing the door behind him. Blair mentally chided herself for letting herself be alone in an enclosed space with an man she didn't know, while at the same time surveying the room for possible weapons.

"And this is Mr. Bass's office?" she asked doubtfully, scrutinizing the overseer coldly. After all she had seen of the owner, this cluttered room did not fit into the picture she had of him.

Mr. Linton hurried towards the desk, closing open books hastily and shuffling papers around in apparent embarrassment. "Actually, this is more my office than Mr. Bass's," he said with a nervous laugh. "I help him keep his books, since you know …" he trailed off, scratching his head in discomfort.

"I see," Blair said, watching his hectic movements closely. "I guess our paths will cross quite often, Mr. Linton, since Mr. Bass hired me to take over some of his foreign business correspondence. And I assume that has been your job so far?"

He glanced up at her with a surprised expression which he quickly tried to mask. "Foreign correspondence?" he asked shakily. "I didn't know that." He let out an uncertain laugh. "But yes, that has been my job so far." His gaze was cast down onto the blank wood that he had excavated by moving the papers from one side of the desk to another.

"Why don't you make yourself comfortable while I try to find Mr. Bass," he stated almost as he made his way to the door without waiting for her assent.

When he had exited the room, Blair sighed in deep frustration; this was exactly what she had feared would happen – that everyone would think she was some kind of kept Mistress. Even the overseer could barely hide his astonishment when she had told him about her assigned duties.

Idly, she walked along the desk, letting her fingers graze the wooden surface, her nose wrinkling in disgust when she felt the dust on her skin. Disinterestedly, she opened one of the books that Mr. Linton had shoved around earlier. The sheets were filled with lists of different goods and items and rows of numbers and calculations, which she assumed to be the sales accounts.

As she closed the book, she glimpsed a pile of letters, hidden underneath it. Glancing guiltily towards the door, she pulled out the topmost carefully and unfolded it slowly. It was written in French, and the sender kindly asked for news on Mr. Bass's state of business, promising an ample compensation in return.

Blair's eyes widened as she realized what kind of correspondence she had stumbled upon. The good Mr. Linton was playing a double game, selling his Master's trade secrets to competitors, trying to get rich in the process. Hastily, she opened another letter to affirm her suspicion; this one was written in German but the subject matter similar to the first.

As she scoured the correspondence for more evidence, she even found an old letter from Mr. Baizen, offering Mr. Linton a place in the town's most prestigious Gentlemen's club and securing him access to _The Lion,_ in return for ordering the mill's cotton supplement from a more expensive seller. She stared at the papers in her hand, contemplating what to do. She knew that she couldn't just leave this office and pretend as if nothing had happened; especially after everything that Mr. Bass had done for her, she at least owed him honesty in this regard.

Quickly, she folded up the letters to hide them; however, as she shoved them into her cleavage, she noticed with a gasp that she hadn't yet destroyed the letter from Lily. She pulled it from her corset hastily, rushing over to the stove. Using the fabric of her skirt to keep from burning herself, she pulled it open and threw the paper into the glowing embers.

Satisfied, she closed the stove, letting out a deep breath.

"Miss Waldorf?" a familiar gruff voice caught her off guard.

"I'm here Mr. Bass," she chirped, twirling around to find him standing in the doorway. "I was just beginning to think you had forgotten me."

He smirked. "Were you trying to prepare yourself a cup of tea just now?"

"No, not quite, Mr. Bass," she answered calmly, while walking across the room towards him, "but I think you already know that."

He nodded, turning around abruptly to step outside the door.

As she moved to follow him, she felt the stiff parchment beneath her corset chafe her skin uncomfortably. "Mr. Bass!" she called after him, reaching for his arm and touching it lightly to make him stop. He halted on the threshold, but did not turn around again. "I need to tell you something."

"You can tell me later," he answered curtly. "We should walk over to the mill. I've got a lot to show you." Swiftly, without waiting for her, he stepped onto the sunlit cobblestones.

Blair raised her eyebrows in irritation at his brusqueness, but followed him outside. However, with unease she noticed several pairs of eyes examining her as they made their way to the other side of the yard.

"Everyone is staring at me," she hissed. "It's the dress you made me wear. "

"I didn't make you do anything," he shot back without slowing down his gait.

"They all think I'm your whore," she bit out, her eyes burning with frustration.

They had reached the entrance of the main mill, and she felt the sounds of the running machines reverberating through her body. He stopped short before the closed door, turning towards her, his face livid. It was the first time, she was able to see his eyes in full daylight, and the blazing darkness in them almost frightened her.

"Of course they think that, Miss Waldorf. Everyone knows the story of your illicit affair with Mr. Baizen and how I brought you home from a brothel for my own enjoyment," he sneered.

She swallowed hard, unable to face the fury in his gaze.

"Stop feeling sorry for yourself and prove them wrong," he said sharply, before finally pulling open the door and holding it open for her.

As she stepped inside, the rhythmic noise became so piercing that it seemed hard to hold a conversation without yelling. A narrow wooden staircase led to an open first floor, fluffy white cotton pieces dancing down the steps.

"What if I want to prove them right?" she asked boldly as he closed the door.

He turned towards the stairs, and she noticed a slight smirk now tugging on the corner of his lips. "You wouldn't," he stated as me made his way up with measured steps.

She opened her mouth to answer but realized that he was daring her to disagree with him, to declare herself an immoral girl in front of him. She bit her lip, her prim and proper self warring with her desire to surprise him, to topple the picture he had of her.

Before she could decide, they had already reached the upper landing, the mechanical noises now almost deafening. "This is one of our spinning rooms, Miss Waldorf," he explained with a business-like tone. "Here the cotton fibers are spun into yarn to be later woven into cloth."

She stared at the two long rows of wooden machines, moving back and forth on a static iron frame, seemingly without much effort by the workers. Six large iron wheels protruded above the rows, moved by an apparatus of cables and rollers in the ceiling. She was sure she had never seen something as fearsome and magnificent, the constant whirring and whizzing of the wheels, threads, and spindles was fascinating but also bewildering to her.

"The machines are called spinning mules," he yelled over the clanking and swishing of the machines, starting towards the aisle between the machines. "They are mostly moved by water energy from the river."

"For what do you need the workers then?" she asked curiously.

"Unfortunately, those are not the most modern machines, so the workers have to make sure that their spinning mule is working correctly, of course," he responded over his shoulder, continuing on his way into the midst of the apparatuses.

As she tried to take in the details of the complex machinery, her gaze became fixated on Mr. Bass's erect figure, marching proudly through the rows without hesitating once. She supposed that he walked this path every day and thus did not need any assistance in maneuvering the busy work hall. He greeted and talked to some of the workers as he passed them on his way and a small smile stole onto her face watching him.

Suddenly, she saw a small boy emerge from under one of the moving spinning mules, just as the white threads were wound around dozens of rotating spindles. He was crawling around on his knees, apparently cleaning the metal carriage from cotton fluff and other dirt.

She stared at him in bafflement, realizing that he was no more than six years old. As she observed him, she noticed a few more small bodies flitting back and forth along the machines, busying themselves with repairing stretched and broken white threads, before the machine receded back towards the spindles.

"What are the children doing here, Mr. Bass?" she asked loudly, her voice dry and parched.

He turned back around to face her, a questioning frown lining his forehead. "Working for me, obviously."

"But they are too young." She drew a frantic breath, feeling a feathery tickling in her nose and mouth. "It's not right." She coughed lightly, trying to clear her throat.

He took a step closer. "Without them their families would starve, Miss Waldorf," he said without hesitation, his voice defensive.

She swallowed frantically, attempting to control the painful urge to cough in her throat. "In the South, we –"

"In the South the farmers use their children for field work. Here the children at least get paid," he said sharply, turning his face away from her.

"At least they have fresh air to breath," she rasped.

He tilted his face towards her. "Maybe it's better for you to wait outside," he said with a wry smile that did not echo in his voice. Stunned, she followed his movements as he continued to walk further down the line of whirring machines and workers.

Covering her mouth and nose with her hand, she quickly made her way through swirls of white and dust towards the staircase, taking a deep breath as she finally exited the door towards the hum of busy workers and mule carts.

She leaned against the nearest wall, closing her eyes and exhaling loudly to relieve the tension in her body and the ache in her lungs.

"The first time in there's always the hardest," a soft, low voice spoke to her left. Blair opened her eyes, surprised to meet the sharp blue ones of a middle-aged woman, sitting on a cotton bale a few feet away from her. "It gets easier. Just don't breathe in too deeply." The other woman's gaze slid down Blair's body with unveiled curiosity. "But a fancy lady such as yourself has no business being in there anyway."

Blair stared at the woman for a few seconds silently, taking in her tidy but worn down dress, which stretched over a swollen belly. As her mind caught on to what she was doing, Blair quickly averted her eyes, focusing them instead on a group of workers unloading cotton bales.

"It can't be healthy for the children to work in there," Blair said with a challenging tone as her thoughts wandered back to the frail boys in the mill.

For an uncomfortable moment Blair thought she had offended her as she glanced over at the silent lady. "No, it is not, Miss," the woman answered calmly, her gaze unfocused. "My young ones already have the cough in their lungs."

Blair was surprised by her honesty. "How many children do you have?" she asked, her voice now kinder.

"Five, Miss. All boys." The woman beamed proudly, leaning into Blair, "I hope we get a girl this time," she whispered, as if telling a secret.

Blair couldn't help but return her excitement with a small smile, though her mind was still reeling to comprehend why a mother wouldn't be more concerned about her sons' well-being, "Are you not afraid for them, when they go to work in the mill?"

"Of course I am," the woman exclaimed steely, "but I believe that starving would be a worse fate for them than this." Blair could hear a wary edge in her voice now. "I hope you never have to make this decision when you have children, Miss."

"Yes," Blair said quietly. For a moment she felt the urge to tell this strange woman about her little lost girl. But what was there to tell? She had never seen her or fed her. She was not much more than an unnamed ghost, only the scar on her stomach remaining as an ever present reminder that she had existed at all.

Blair swallowed a burning lump in her throat as she forced herself to concentrate on the woman next to her. "Do you like working here?" she finally asked to dispel the clamor in her mind.

"There's nothin' to like about work, Miss, but there are worse Masters than Mr. Bass."

"Does he pay you more then?" Blair asked with curiosity.

"No, no," the woman replied with a forceful shake of her head, "he pays the same as the other Masters here, and I dare say that's as much as he can afford, but he is –," she stopped, apparently searching for the right word,"not as vile."

Blair pondered her statement for a moment, many more questions about the mill and its owner simmering in her head.

However, before she could gather her thoughts, a loud voice bellowed across the yard. "Mary!"

The woman slowly rose from the cotton bale, waving to the approaching man. As he walked closer, Blair noticed how his eyes darted back and forth between her and the other woman, who was now holding out her hands to him in an intimate gesture. He took the woman's hands gently in his, drawing her closer to him, so he could lean down to whisper something in her ear.

Blair averted her eyes to give them privacy; however, her head snapped up immediately when she heard him hiss, "She's with the Master." The woman shook her head, but turned to steal a glance at Blair with a worried and pleading look. "Miss?" she said hesitatingly after a short pause, "I beg you to not mention any of what we talked about to –"

"To Mr. Bass?" Blair finished curtly, stepping closer to the couple. "Don't worry. Whatever you may think of _me_, Mr. Bass hired me to aid him with his business correspondence, not to spy on his workers," she stated plainly, before inclining her head politely and walking past them towards the main office, ignoring the eyes and whispers following her.

xxxxx

When she had made the decision to hide in the mill office, she had done it mainly for the sake of showing everyone that she was to be taken seriously. However, after an hour spent staring at the monotone cycle of workers loading and unloading mule carts and hoping that Mr. Bass would come and apologize to her, she had almost been resigned to return to the main house. Yet, she had not wanted to grant this kind of satisfaction to the servants or Mr. Bass; instead she wanted to impress them, or even better, intimidate them.

Frantically, she had pulled the hidden letters from her décolleté and collected books, manuscripts and stacks of paper from the shelves, spreading them out on the table in front of her. She had spent the most part of the morning and early afternoon gathering all of Mr. Linton's correspondence, checking it against the numbers and accounts in the books, jotting down prices and lists of sellers. Occasionally, she would get up from the table to watch the shifting sunrays play across the busy workers in the yard and to check for any sign of Mr. Linton or Mr. Bass; however, both remained absent from the office for the day, allowing her enough time to try and understand the mill's financial network.

Eagerly, she decided to draw up response letters to the corrupt business partners in Mr. Bass's name, barely feeling the shadows in the small room growing larger and darker, the heat of the oven dying slowly.

She hardly heard the gentle knock on the door, only becoming aware of it when she noticed the door being pushed open from outside. Swiftly, she scrambled to her feet, shoving the documents under a nearby book and trying to come up with a believable excuse for her presence in the office.

"Miss Waldorf?" the deep voice of Mr. Bass called into the room.

"Yes, Mr. Bass," she answered pleasantly.

"I brought something to eat for you. Apparently you haven't been out of this office for the whole day." He entered the room slowly, balancing a large steaming bowl and silver spoon in his left hand. Carefully, he reached for the table with the other arm, shoving some of the papers to the side to make room.

Blair wrinkled her nose as she regarded the deep brown concoction with suspicion. "What is it?"

"You can say what you will about Miss Scott, but she does make an edible stew." He pushed the bowl further towards her. "Eat up, Miss Waldorf. You need your strength."

She sat back down, sighing as she drew the bowl closer and took up the spoon, dipping it into the dark broth cautiously. Large chunks of unrecognizable meat and vegetables revealed themselves as she swirled the spoon around.

"Are you sure she hasn't poisoned this?"

He chuckled with amusement, sitting down leisurely on the desktop, "I'm sure. Now, eat."

She wanted to decline to repay him for the manner of his dismissal this morning, but couldn't deny to herself that she was starving and that the stew smelt more appetizing than she'd ever admit.

Scooping up a piece of something she believed to be potato, she started to nibble on it. As she found the taste piquant but not displeasing, she took a larger bite, enjoying the warmth of the food as it filled her stomach.

"How did you know where I was?" Blair asked to dispel the silence between them.

"Mill gossip can be very informative," he replied offhandedly. "Hence, I thought it wise to occupy Mr. Linton elsewhere while you were in here."

She looked up at him in surprise, trying to gauge what kind of answer he expected from her. However, his expression remained an inscrutable friendly mask. "I appreciate that," she said finally.

He nodded, his features still unreadable. "It might interest you that you were a popular topic amongst the workers today," he carried on conversationally.

"Because of the dress?" she asked cautiously.

"Because they rarely get to see a beautiful, fashionably-dressed lady come to the factory. And more so, one that takes an interest in their work," he said gently.

A tender smile crept upon her face. "You are just trying to flatter me, Mr. Bass."

He shook his head, his face now open and sincere. "I might not see, Miss Waldorf, but I still have ears, and I heard my workers talk about you."

"What did they say?" she asked coyly.

He gave her a boyish smile, rubbing the back of his neck with his left hand. "You don't need to worry yourself about it, it's only talk."

She let out a small laugh. "Of course." Flustered, she busied herself with spooning up a piece of meat from her bowl. Quickly, she shoved it into the mouth, so she wouldn't have to think of something to say. While she chewed on the stringy chunk,which had clearly been bought for its price rather than its taste, her gaze fell on the finished letters before her.

She swallowed heavily, straightening her spine and fixing her gaze on him. "I have to speak to you about a business matter, Mr. Bass," she said with a somber tone, which she believed to be appropriate.

He quirked an eyebrow, shifting his position on the desk slightly. "A business matter?" he said startled.

"Yes," she rasped, her throat suddenly dry. "It's about Mr. Linton," she continued, her voice betraying her nervousness.

He folded his hands in his lap. "Is that the reason why you have been hiding in here the whole day?"

"I haven't been hiding, Mr. Bass," she replied sharply, "I have been working."

He nodded. "What is it then?" he said softly.

Blair took a deep breath. "This morning, when I was waiting for you –"

"Did he hurt you?" he interrupted her, his voice suddenly flat and withdrawn, his eyes burning darkly.

"No," she replied quickly, shaking her head, "but I have found some evidence that he can't be trusted."

He turned his face away from her, remaining silent for a few uncomfortable moments. "Go on," he finally said in a calm voice.

"This morning I happened on Mr. Linton's correspondence with certain business partners of yours. They were offering him money or other courtesies if he shared confidential business matters with them or did what they asked him to do." Blair stopped short to wait for his reaction, but as he showed neither disappointment nor anger, she continued firmly, "So I spent this afternoon going through the accounts trying to find disadvantageous transactions that suggest foul play and were, I believe, carried out in order to harm the mill."

He kept his head low as if listening for her breathing, but was now kneading his fingers relentlessly. "And may I ask how you happened on these letters, Miss Waldorf?"

Blair hesitated, caught off guard by his question.

Slowly, he rose from the table, walking over to the window. "I suppose, by letting your eyes and hands wander," he answered for her. "As you did in the library last night?"

She pushed herself up from the chair, letting its legs scrape loudly over the floor. Deliberately, she made her way towards the window, coming to a halt next to him. "That is not the same, Mr. Bass. You even agreed to letting me have full access to your library."

He continued as if not having heard her, his posture rigid, "Miss Scott told me that she found a candle in the, how should I put it … _indecent _section of the library and that one book had clearly been pulled from the shelf," he stated gravely, but she knew that he was taxing her. "Sadly, I can no longer enjoy them and the servants would rather drown themselves than touch any of the books in that section, so …"

Blair seethed at the thought of having to live under the same roof as the nosy housekeeper. She was sure that the lady had only told Mr. Bass of her discovery in the hopes of getting rid of her. "I'm not denying that I took it from the shelf, but it was an accident," she stated angrily, staring unseeingly at the grimy window panes. "I was curious and didn't know what kind of depravity I'd find in there."

From the corner of her eye she saw him tilt his head in her direction. "While I admire your inquiring mind and your thirst for knowledge, Miss Waldorf, how do I know you are using them for my benefit?" he asked calmly, but searching.

"You can't, Mr. Bass," she stated matter-of-factly, turning to face him. "But you told me in our first conversation that I shouldn't trust you. Yet, I stayed in your house," she paused as she noted a small smile play across his lip. "So maybe you could show me the same courtesy."

He turned his body fully towards her. "Who are the men Linton received letters from?"

"The letters I found were from Mr. Guiton, Mr. Wagner and Mr. Baizen," Blair said calmly, scrutinizing his face for any signs of anger.

"Of course." He chuckled darkly. "And when were you planning to tell me about all of this?"

"I wanted to tell you this morning, Mr. Bass, but it didn't seem like the right moment."

He took a step closer to her, his voice dropping to an almost menacing whisper, "Now, Miss Waldorf, I suppose you already thought about how to deal with these issues?"

She angled her head in his direction, so that their faces were only a few inches apart. "I might have an idea or two, one of them being that you find a replacement for Mr. Linton," she murmured softly.

"My, my, I wouldn't want to have you as my enemy, Miss Waldorf," he breathed darkly, close to her ear.

A pleasant chill ran down her spine at his words, but she was reluctant to take their power play a step further. Apparently understanding her hesitancy, he stepped away from her towards the door.

"I propose that you read these letters to me tomorrow morning," he now addressed her in a more formal tone, "and then we can talk about your business ideas and the future of Mr. Linton."

"Agreed, Mr. Bass," she answered swiftly.

He gave her a curt nod, his hand already on the door handle. "Now, eat your dinner, and meet me in the library later when you have finished with your work. I have to talk to you about another business matter," he said politely before exiting the door.

When he had left, she sat back down at the table, trying to gather her thoughts. Shoving the bowl of stew to the side, she retrieved all of her documents and letters to sort them, striving to spin her ideas into a convincing argument.

Her musings were disrupted, however, by low voices outside the building, floating through a gap in the door, which Mr. Bass had forgotten to close properly.

" – _heard about Mr. Baizen,"_ a young female voice hissed.

"_No. What happened?"_ another girl squeaked excitedly.

Her interest piqued, Blair rose quietly and stepped closer to the door in order to hear more of the conversation.

A short giggle followed. _"Agnes has heard from Jenny that he was shot in front of the Lion last night."_

The other girl gasped. _"Is he dead?_

The first one chortled. _"No, but I guess a certain part of his body is."_

There was a moment of silence before both girls burst out into a fit of laughter and even Blair couldn't suppress a satisfied grin. Maybe there was some just higher power after all.

"_Some say it was Mr. Bass taking revenge for his new Mistress," _the first girl continued after a while in a conspiratorial tone.

"_Oh, that dark-haired lady?" _the other one asked. Blair swallowed heavily as she forced herself to continue listening.

"_Aye. Did you see her dress? The Master must have paid a pretty penny for that."_

"_And quite scandalous too,"_ the second girl uttered condescendingly. _"But how could the Master have done it, silly?"_

"_Maybe he is just pretending to be –"_

Suddenly, a loud male voice interrupted their chattering, commanding them to get on with their work. She heard their steps die away on the cobblestones as they moved across the courtyard away from her building.

Blair's head swam as she steadied herself on the doorframe, processing the girls' words. She wasn't naïve enough to believe that Mr. Bass's blindness was an elaborate scheme of his, but she feared that it wasn't outside of the realm of possibility that he had paid someone to act on his behalf.

She shook her head. "No, he wouldn't," she whispered to herself, but knew that it was a lie. She had no idea what he was capable of doing. Still, she wanted to know if it was true and what she would feel if it was.

Uncertainly, she collected the documents and books from the desk and exited the office, walking across the yard towards the main house. Remotely, she registered how carts filled with chatting men and women were leaving through the mill gates into the balmy evening. As she watched them disappear around the corner into the city, it crossed her mind that no one would stop her if she walked out of the gate now. She was free to do what she liked, no reputation to worry about, no family that watched her every move, no need to fulfill the expectations of others or answer to anybody, not even a need to be scared of unwanted pregnancies.

She blushed, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath to clear her mind.

Yet, no matter how much this unrestraint scared her, she did not want to run from the uncertainties she faced inside these walls. She opened her eyes and quickly turned on her heel, swiftly entering the dim halls of the house before she could reconsider her decision. Determined, she crossed the entryway towards the library, a shimmer of deep light guiding her.

She hesitated on the threshold of the fire-lit room, her eyes searching and finding Mr. Bass at the windows, the curtains already drawn. He did not turn around; instead, he kept his face to the window as if he hadn't heard her. In the reflection, she could see that he was swirling a tumbler in his hand.

"I'm here, Mr. Bass," she stated loudly.

"I know," was all he said in return.

She clutched the bundle of papers to her chest tightly, taking a shaky breath. "Did you hear the gossip about Mr. Baizen by any chance?"

"No, I don't think I did," he answered dispassionately. "Anything interesting."

"I heard he suffered from a little accident last night," she stated flatly.

"Oh?" he said, feigning mild interest. "What happened?"

For a moment she felt light-headed as the truth she had suspected revealed itself in his voice. Still, she wanted to push him further. "A bar brawl at _The Lion_ apparently," she said calmly.

She watched him take a sip from his glass. "How is he?" he said over his shoulder.

"I guess, he'll survive, but some of his body's appendages were not so luckily," she sighed deeply

"Poor chap," he murmured darkly. "At least he is still alive."

She finally stepped into the room slowly, enjoying the growing warmth and hisses of the fire. She would have barely recognized the room if it hadn't been for the small forbidden alcove of books twinkling at her. The candleholder from last night was still in the place where she had left it, except that a new candle had replaced the old, a proud, bright flame now dancing on top. "Maybe the gunman should have aimed a little higher," she said darkly, skimming the back of an old, beaten armchair with her fingertips, moving closer to him.

He turned towards her now. His face was taut but he let out a small, appreciative laugh. "Maybe he should have." He gestured with his free hand to a cozy sofa close to the fireplace. "Won't you sit down, Miss Waldorf?"

She hesitated behind the armchair as if it would shield her, unsure of how she felt about Mr. Bass's role in Mr. Baizen's mishap. She felt her conscience war with dark emotions within her, but she couldn't find it in herself to condemn him for something that she had found satisfaction in just mere moments ago.

She walked towards the sofa slowly, seating herself at the edge of the soft cushions. She placed her documents on the unoccupied seat next to her and daintily folded her fingers in her lap. She studied the pattern of the wooden floor intently, listening to his lithe footsteps as he walked past her and sat down in the leather armchair across from her. From the condition of the floor she could tell that the furniture hadn't been moved for a long while, probably allowing him to walk about securely in his own house.

As she looked back up at him, he grabbed a leather folder from a close by table that also carried an unopened book. He held it up for her to take. "It's the contract. My lawyer brought it over earlier."

She pulled it from his fingers gently, extracting the papers in one swift motion. From the corner of her eyes she saw him sipping at his drink repeatedly.

As she skimmed the paragraphs, a pleased smile crept onto her face at the realization that everything she had demanded and he had offered had been included. Even the wardrobe addendum they had argued about this morning. Moreover, she noticed in surprise that he had already signed both copies of the contract, his letters wide but steady.

"You don't have to sign it now," he mumbled, his free hand pulling on the stitched seams of his armrest aimlessly.

She traced the curves of his name with her fingertip for a moment before rising from the sofa and walking over to a small writing desk, wrenched painfully between two narrow shelves of books. An opened stained inkwell and a quill were already waiting for her; the feather had clearly been used shortly before and thrown onto the desk haphazardly. Already a dark spot was forming on the aged wood, seeping into its structure.

Carefully, Blair picked up the discarded quill, wiping away the spilled ink with the side of her hand. Ignoring the black smudges on her skin, she spread out the papers in front of her. Swiftly, she plunged the feather into the ink pot before scratching her name into the parchment.

Yet, her hand kept hovering over the sheet as she read over the agreed points once more, her eyes lingering on the section stating her demand for a chamber maid. A day with numbers and duplicity had told her that Mr. Bass and the mill were not nearly as well off as he would have her believe, and she did not want to aid its downfall with her vanity. So, she took a deep breath and crossed out the passage with a thin but steady line on both versions.

Satisfied with her work, she placed one copy in the folder and stored the other one in her corset. Returning to the fire, she placed the closed folder in his lap without saying a word. Blair turned her head just in time to catch a faint smile flit across his face, causing a warm sensation to spread across her body up to her cheeks. "So, now that this is out of the way, how else are we going to entertain ourselves?" she said in a bored tone as she resumed her seat on the sofa.

He quirked an eyebrow. "Well …," he trailed off suggestively.

She sighed exasperatedly. "No, don't even say it."

With a shrug, he placed the documents back on the small side table. "What would you suggest?"

Blair leaned back into the velvety cushions, her fingers drawing circles on the fleecy surface, marveling on how, compared to the other pieces in the room, it seemed almost new and unused, as if no one ever sat on it. Realization dawning, she peered up at him, watching him stare unseeingly into the fire.

"What do you usually do? If you don't have company?" she asked, trying to keep her tone light and conversational.

He swirled the alcohol in his glass for a long moment before answering, his face inscrutable. "In my situation, there are not plenty of things one can do." Suddenly, he turned to her with a twisted smirk marring his features. "Except to amuse oneself with ladies of the night now and then."

She swallowed, unsure whether he wanted to insult or compliment her. "How did it happen? Your eyes?" she asked shamelessly, wanting to unsettle him.

He chuckled, talking a sip from his glass. "Maybe we start with an easier conversation topic first?"

"So what would you suggest?" she said mockingly, mimicking his earlier response.

He leaned forward slightly, tilting his face once more towards the crackling flames. "How about you tell me what Lady Baizen wanted this morning. I'm sure it must have been of some importance if she deigned to visit us."

"She wants to reinstate me as a tutor for her daughter since –"

"No," he barked, his head snapping back up towards her. "You won't go up to that house again," he said in a tone that allowed no protest or argument.

"I'm not yours to command," she said bitterly, pushing herself up from the sofa. To put some space between them, she walked towards the window that he had stood in front of mere moments ago. She attempted to peer beyond the glass, but his reflection refused to fade out of focus. "Do you really think I'm foolish enough to put myself into the same situation again? After everything that happened?" she asked the small figure mirrored in the window pane.

She watched the blurred form raise an arm to its face. "Then why do it?" His tone was a mix of calm anger and curiosity.

"I can't be as indifferent to children as you are," she answered curtly, the distress over this morning's discoveries boiling back up inside of her.

"That may be, but at least they are not my own," he bit out.

She turned around to face him. "What are you trying to say?"

"I'm saying that it is much worse to be indifferent to one's own child and the wife, who almost died giving birth to it. Wouldn't you agree?" He tilted his head to the side, waiting, listening for her reaction.

She didn't want to give him the satisfaction of revealing any kind of emotion, so she closed her eyes and swallowed. "You know?" Blair asked in an eerily silent voice that seemed almost foreign to her.

He gave a short nod. "It wasn't very difficult to find out."

"How much do you know?"

He turned his head towards the hearth, his fingertips tracing the rim of the tumbler loosely. "Everything."

"Everything?" she deadpanned.

"I know who your husband is. That he left after you gave birth to a stillborn child." His voice was harsh and filled with cold anger. "That his family is seeking a divorce and that your own parents disowned you," he paused, "and I know that you fled your home to escape the humiliation."

Livid, shameful tears rose to Blair's eyes as she felt exposed and embarrassed of her own life, her failure. She balled her fists, her nails cutting into her tender palms painfully. "I would very much like to slap you right now, Mr. Bass," she spat, taking a step closer.

Slowly, he placed the glass on the table next to him, before turning towards her with astern expression. "Why don't you, Miss Waldorf?" He spread his arms in an inviting gesture. "I'm sure it would feel liberating."

She took another step forward, but hesitated. "I guess it would," she said calmly, belying the seething fury inside of her. "But I'm a lady, and I was taught not to hit crippled men." With satisfaction she watched his expression change from surprise to a wry smirk.

"I suppose you won that round, Miss Waldorf."

She smiled in spite of herself, crossing her arms in front of her stomach. "Even so, I'm much disadvantaged in this competition since you seem to have more ammunition at your disposal than I."

Suddenly, he shifted in his seat, leaning forward, his smirk fading. "Blair, I –"

"It's still Miss Waldorf," she interrupted him brusquely.

He sighed. "Miss Waldorf, I hope you know that I would not use this information to hurt you."

"How would I know? You are a stranger," she said pertly. "And if it wasn't your plan to use this information about my past to hold me at ransom, then why did you pry into something that is none of your business?"

"Because I always do a thorough investigation of my new employees," he volunteered, but she could tell that it was a half-hearted answer.

"I might have told you freely if you had asked me," she said quietly, in an attempt to make him feel guilty.

He shook his head, smiling somberly. "No, you wouldn't have."

She let the atmosphere fill with unsettled quietness, wanting to let him stew over whether she would leave the room.

"So much for an easier conversation topic," he stated darkly into the room, lifting the liquor-filled glass from the table once more.

"I should go to bed, Mr. Bass. We've said quite enough today," she stated, rubbing her hands across her upper arms absentmindedly.

He gave a curt nod in her direction, balancing the tumbler on the armrest. "Before you go though, I have a small job for you to do."

"What is it?" she asked uncertainly.

"Please sit down again for a moment, Miss Waldorf," he said in detached tone, gesturing to the sofa.

She eyed him curiously, but did as he asked, letting her weight drop onto the plush cushions.

He took up the lone book from the side table, handing it to her. "I'd appreciate it if you read page 53 to me, Miss Waldorf."

She leaned forward, taking the volume from his hand tentatively. As she shifted it between her fingers, she saw that it bore no title. Immediately, Blair was reminded of the books she had discovered in his library the other night, hoping fervently that this was not one of them. However, when she opened it to the page he had requested, she realized that it was exactly the book she had grabbed from the shelf.

She shook her head violently, snapping the book shut loudly. "I won't read this, Mr. Bass."

"Why not?" he asked, a smirk playing across his lips. "If I remember correctly, reading to me is part of your job, as stated in article seven of our contract." His eyes sparkled darkly, giving her the impression that he enjoyed her discomfort.

"This," she pointed at the book in her lap in agitation, "is not work, my dear Mr. Bass."

He cocked his head to the side. "What are you afraid of? It's just a book?"

"I'm not afraid, Mr. Bass," she bit out.

"Then read it to me," he said firmly, taking a sip from his drink.

She reopened the book with fury, taking a quiet breath to steady her voice.

"_But guess my surprise, when I saw the lazy young rogue lie down on his back, and gently pull down the girl upon him," _Blair began to readstoically_, _keeping her voice without inflection, determined_ to _remain unaffected by the story_, "who giving way to his humour, stradled, and with her hands conducted her– ," _she stopped at reading the next words, heat surging to her cheeks. She looked up at him uncertainly, and he, seemingly having expected her reaction, smiled wickedly.

"Please continue, Miss Waldorf," he said in an amused tone

Blair huffed loudly before continuing, _"-and with her hands conducted her blind favorite to the right place," _she enunciated the requisite word with extra care to let him know that she understood the double meaning._ "And following her impulse, ran directly upon the flaming point of this weapon of pleasure, which she staked herself upon, up pierced, and infixed to the extremest hair breadth of it," _as she pictured the image inside her head, she felt her fingers grew damp with embarrassment. From the corner of her eye she saw him shift in his seat, but when she looked up at him, all the former humor seemed to have left his face; his eyes were closed, his posture rigid. She continued to glance him as she proceeded, _"thus she sat on him a few instants, enjoying and relishing her situation, whilst he toyed with her provoking breasts." _She noticed him drawing a deep breath, his fingers clenching the glass in his hand tightly. She smiled to herself as she understood the effect her reading was having on him. Determined to make him suffer for his impudence, she added a deep, sultry tone to her voice as she carried on, "_Sometimes she would stoop to meet his kiss: but presently the sting of pleasure spurred them up to fiercer action;" _Blair quickened her breath for added measure, enjoying his growing discomposure_, "then began the storm of heaves, which, from the undermost combatant, were thrust at the same time, he crossing his hands over her, and drawing her home to him with a sweet violence: the inverted strokes of anvil over hammer soon brought on the critical period, in which all the signs of a close conspiring ecstasy –_

"Now, what do you think about it, Miss Waldorf?" he interrupted her suddenly, his voice sounding tense and breathless.

"That is really not a proper conversation topic –"

"To hell with propriety, Miss Waldorf," he growled. "I asked you what you think."

She cleared her throat, staring at the words before her. "Obviously, it does not seem to be a well written book," she began quietly, "it's quite sensational and –" she paused to open the first page, reading the author's name and book title, "it was written by a man, so I don't know how he can presume to give an accurate description of a woman's pleasure." She looked at up him questioningly, waiting to see his response to her words.

To her surprise, his features displayed no mockery or mirth. "So, you don't think that a man can know of a woman's pleasure?" he asked sincerely.

"Not that I know of, Mr. Bass," she said, surprised at her own frankness.

"Then your husband wasn't –"

"My husband, Mr. Bass, was a very considerate man. He always treated me properly, like a lady," she said defiantly, wanting him to know that her husband had not been an unkind man.

She watched as he took a deep gulp from his glass, his jaw set into a hard line. "Except when he threw you to the wolves after you almost died." He ran his free hand through his hair, before leaning forward in his seat. "Do you still love him?" he asked gently.

She remained silent for a moment, contemplating his question. If she were truthful with herself, she'd have to admit that she wasn't sure about her feelings for her husband. She could never bring herself to hate him, even after everything he had done. After all, he had been a part of her life since her early childhood. She had thought she loved him, but she had been so young and naïve then. Had that really been love, if she could now so freely converse with another man, allow him to touch her, and worse, take pleasure in it? Had that been love, if she so easily forgot the vows to the man she was still married to?

"Miss Waldorf, is everything all right?" she heard him ask through the haze of her thoughts.

She shook her head to clear her mind, focusing on his concerned face. "I'd rather not talk about him anymore. The past lies in the past and there is no use in reliving its pain," she said curtly.

He nodded his head slightly, his features betraying no emotion at her answer. "What shall we talk about then?"

"Well, you promised me an answer to my question, Mr. Bass."

"So much about not reliving the past's pain, Miss Waldorf," he said teasingly, a hollow smile stretching his face.

"You don't need to –"

"No, I guess it's only fair," he took a moment to sit up straight in his chair, taking another sip of his drink. "I suppose I could say that it was some sort of divine intervention, some kind of retributions for my sins," he said wryly.

"But?" Blair prodded.

He turned his face towards the heat of the fire, his profile glowing darkly against the hellish light. "I don't quite believe in God, Miss Waldorf; I only believe in human mistakes and cruelty," he stated, before turning his face back towards her, "I'm sorry if that shocks you."

She let out a small laugh. "No, I didn't take you for the religious kind anyway. But surely you can't be that cynical?"

"Why not?" he asked adamantly. "I thought you of all people might understand."

"Yes. I do," she stated heatedly. "But I refuse to wallow in self-pity." She rose from her seat to walk towards the shelves, letting the book fall onto the plush seat with a soft thud. She noticed leaning forward in his armchair and for a moment she thought he would follow her, but he only set down his tumbler on the side table, interlacing his fingers in front of his body.

"I don't seem to have your moral perseverance, Miss Waldorf," he said grimly before he rested his elbows on his thighs, imprisoning his head between his hands. He remained still for long moment, his body stiff and frozen like a marble stature. "I'm sure you have seen the old mill up at the Baizens' pompous palace and heard the story of its gruesome demise?" he continued quietly.

"Only that many people died and that the owner was –" Blair blanched, the truth now unfolding before her eyes.

"Yes, Miss Waldorf, that mill was once mine," he said coldly. "The day of the fire had been warm and clear, just as this one," he began, his voice low and throaty, his head still buried between his fingers. "It was just before sundown and I heard the workers getting ready to pack up their work for the day," he paused, his hands rubbing up and down the sides of face repeatedly. "Suddenly, I heard a commotion downstairs, and went to check on the lower floors. But when I got there the heat was already unbearable; the beams were crashing from the ceiling, people were screaming for help … but I just ran," he whispered, his fingers twitching restlessly. "The fire was so hot that it felt as if the skin was being torn from my face. I tried to shield it with my hands, but I needed to see… I remember thinking that my failing sight must be due to the smoke –" he stopped short suddenly, a humorless laugh escaping him. "I didn't even try to rescue one of my workers, I only wanted to rescue myself."

Blair's head spun, his honestly and anguish leaving her momentarily at a loss for words. "Do you regret it?" she asked cautiously.

"I'm sorry that so many people had to die, yes." He lifted his head slightly, turning his face in her direction. "But I do not regret my decision, Miss Waldorf. If I could do it all over again, I know I'd make the same choice." He smiled darkly. "Still, in the end it might have been better for me to die in that fire," he said, pointing to his eyes.

"Oh come now, Mr. Bass. You know you won't get any pity from me," she returned playfully, taking a few steps closer to the fireplace. "You are still a wealthy, reasonably well-looking man. I don't think any girl at _The Lion_ would deny you if you offered to be their patron."

He chuckled lightly. "I'm sure _you_ would have," he said, reclining back in his chair. "But the crux is that the fire did not only rob me of my sight, but also of a considerable part of my wealth. You see, most of my money had been invested in the machines. So, I'm not quite the fortuitous match you make me out to be." He paused before continuing in a low, mirthful voice, "As I'm sure you must have already noticed from the desolate state of my house, if not from my account books."

Blair walked alongside the mantelpiece, mulling over what he had just said. "You didn't have any insurance?"

He shook his head, bending forward once more to reach for his glass on the table. Blair, however, quickly snatched it away before he could grasp it. "You shouldn't drink so much, Mr. Bass," she said sweetly, making sure he heard her taking an ample sip of the strong alcohol. She snorted with laughter into the glass as his face turned into a displeased scowl.

He withdrew his hand from the empty table. "Maybe I should have left you on the floor in _The Lion_ after all," he grumbled.

She laughed again, noticing a small smile play along his lips. "You still have not answered my question," she said warmly.

"I had no insurance because not one of those fine London agents would cover my mill. Insuring a whole factory full of easily inflammable material is fairly risky, you know," he sighed, lurching back in his seat. "And in contrast to your husband, I'm not quite as well connected to bend people to my will."

She ignored his jab, realizing that she was picking at a raw wound. For a moment she enjoyed the warmth of the fire caressing her legs, before taking a silent step towards his armchair. She walked around it slowly, letting her fingers trail along the timeworn leather of the backrest close to the dark tips of his hair. By the tilt of his head she could tell that he was aware of her presence, following her movements in the room.

Finally, she sat down on the armrest. "I think you can be very persuasive, Mr. Bass," she said mirthfully, setting the tumbler down on his thigh next to his outstretched hands. She watched in fascination as his lean fingers curled around the glass slowly as if enclosing the most delicate flower.

He smiled feebly. "Not persuasive enough to convince anyone in town to invest in this mill after the other one had burnt down." Letting out a ghostly chuckle, he gulped down the rest of the alcohol before setting the empty tumbler away once more. "The good people of Oldham all thought I had set the fire myself, and no one in their right mind would want to invest in the business of a maniac."

"And why would they think that?" she asked in confusion, eyeing him curiously.

However, his silence dissolved the atmosphere like acid. His features hardened, his face unmoving, lips pressed together in a painful line; telling her that he was unwilling to answer.

For a moment she stared at his stern profile in embarrassment before clearing her throat. "Just for the record, I would have made the same choice," she said quietly, attempting to break the tension.

He turned his face up to her, his brows knitted in question.

"I would have chosen myself too," she whispered. "But thank you for saving _me_. It seems you do care about others after all," she teased gently.

With his face so close, she could make out the wrinkles around his eyes and lips as he smiled at her response. Small white scars marred one side of his face where the fire had left its mark on his features, and impulsively, she reached up to trace them. As her fingers met his skin, she felt him withdraw from her touch as if jolted, his eyes wide and wild.

Ignoring his reaction, she once more lifted her hand to his face, grazing her fingers over the branded skin gently. She smiled to herself as she noticed him close his eyes, drawing a ragged breath. She let her fingers dance over his tense jaw, and without thinking leaned down to press her lips against his softly. She heard him groan in surprise and felt his rough hands move up to her face, holding it in place with tender force, as he began to move his lips under hers. They were warm, the sharp taste of alcohol still lingering on them. Fiery excitement spread along her spine as she felt the stubble on his skin graze her chin, the muscles in his jaw tightening under her palm, his fingers wandering along the column of her throat. She wanted nothing more than to lose herself in this moment; however, stern faces swam before her closed eyelids, familiar voices filling her head, chastising and judging her for her wantonness.

Slowly, she drew her head back, keeping her eyes shut to relish the feeling of his uneven breath on her lips. She brought up her hands to cover his, which were still enclosing her face unyieldingly. Gently, she interlaced their fingers, lifting his hands from her skin. As she finally opened her eyes, she saw that his were still closed, his jaw muscles clenching and unclenching in an irate rhythm.

"Good night, Mr. Bass," she said breathless, but determined, untangling herself from his hands and the warmth of his body.

His eyes snapped opened, still as dark and infinite as before, but moving restlessly as if searching for something. "You can call me Chuck," he said with a self-assured smirk, belying the uncertainty in his eyes.

She smiled to herself as she returned to the sofa, lifting the discarded book and documents from the plush velvet with tingling fingers. "Perhaps tomorrow," she replied lightly as she hurried towards the door, his head following her steps.

**AN: First, much love to my wonderful beta Robin, as always.**  
**Second, I apologize for the long wait, but I hope the length of this chapter makes up for it. I decided not to split it because I didn't want to rob you of the end, but I hope you'll leave me a review in return. ;)**


	7. Foreign Home

**VII. Foreign Home**

August 1799

Blair was woken by a sharp puckering sound in her head that she tried to repress by squeezing her eyes shut more tightly and willing the noise to stop. However, as sleep slowly left her, she realized that it was not a headache that had awoken her but the machines of the mill. Swiftly, she opened her eyes, surprised that Miss Scott had not yet come to call her out of bed. Blair blinked at the bright slivers of sunlight streaming through the small crack between the drawn curtains, which told her that the time was way past dawn. The heat of the day was already beginning to creep into the bedroom, the thick feather blanket starting to feel more suffocating than comforting.

Not yet wanting to leave the bed, Blair let her gaze sweep over her nightstand, its smooth surface covered with shriveled petals and strewn pollen that once belonged to the vase filled with now withered poppies. She reached out one hand to touch one of the fallen petals, rubbing it between her thumb and index finger until it dissolved on her skin and left it stained red. The sight of it left her uneasy, since she was not sure that the flower in the crystal vase would ever be replaced by new ones after what happened in the library. Maybe Mr. Bass wanted her to look at the carnage every morning to teach her some kind of lesson.

He was attracted to her; that much she knew. Reveling in the power she had over him, she had enjoyed being able to tease and to play the tease, but it had never been her intention to go as far as she had. She only knew that at that moment she had felt the need to kiss him. Maybe it had been sympathy; maybe it had been the uncouth reading material, or perhaps just the heat of the fireplace and the scotch.

She squeezed her eyes shut tight and hid her face in the pillow, trying to escape the discomfiture and shame of her memories. Why couldn't she be more like Serena? Blair remembered that her friend had kissed a lot of her beaus behind rose bushes or marble pillars at balls, but never once had seemed remorseful or embarrassed.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, Blair rolled over onto her back until her movement was stopped by a hard object. Frowning, Blair reached under her spine and pulled out the book she had stolen from him and been reading till late in the night. She recalled hiding it under her blanket to prevent detection by Miss Scott.

Blair blushed as she remembered the words she had read, the images swirling anew in her head. It had served well to distract her from the surge of conflicting feelings about what had occurred downstairs, but now, in broad daylight, she would like nothing better than to burn the vulgar text. She liked to imagine that not even Serena had done all the bawdy things described in there.

A lifetime ago, before Blair had been married and before Serena ran away from home, her friend had whispered scandalous things in her ear when they had lain awake after a particular exhilarating country dance. Things that people did to themselves and that Serena had tried to teach her one night. Afterwards however, Blair had been so horrified and appalled that she had threatened Serena with telling her mother if she ever mentioned it again.

She had often thought about heeding Serena's advice when she had been intimate with her husband, when she could see the pleasure on his face, but had felt none of it herself. Later she had come to accept the fact that satisfaction in the marriage bed was not meant for her, and as she had been taught by her mother, was neither desired nor expected of ladies of her station either. Still, she had hoped that for _her_ it would be different.

Last night she had encountered vivid descriptions of these acts, reminding her once more of Serena's hushed instructions. Lying there in the dark, Blair had almost been tempted then to let her fingers slide down her body, until the stern eyes of her mother appeared in front of her, judging and condemning her. Serena would certainly have laughed at her silliness and would have reminded her gently that she no longer needed to worry about her mother, now that she was beyond reproach.

Clenching her eyes shut and pressing her lips together, Blair pushed her mother's face further and further out of her mind until it was only a small dark stain on the edge of her consciousness. She let her hand slide down her cotton-clad body timidly, flinching slightly as she grazed the scar on her stomach, her fingers halting at the hem of her nightgown.

Hesitating for a moment, Blair told herself that she would just get it over with and shoved her fingers to the apex of her thighs until she felt soft, curly hair brush her skin. Heat spread to her cheeks, as she pushed one fingertip lower and deeper, trying to remember Serena's hushed instructions.

Slowly, she began to move her hand in tender circles, but drew it away when she felt nothing more than a shallow tingle instead of the overwhelming pleasure promised in the novel. She opened her eyes, sighing in frustration. Serena had made it sound so easy, so Blair knew she must be doing something wrong. Maybe if she only tried harder –

A sharp rap on the door broke through her thoughts, and she had only so much time to arrange herself in a non-compromising position before the door was opened.

Miss Scott bolted into the room without sparing Blair a glance or a nod, marching without deterrence to the curtains to pull them open forcefully. "The Master has asked me to call you down for breakfast," the servant stated brusquely once she had finished her task.

Blair turned her face to the side to avoid the glaring sunlight and stretched her arms above her head lazily as if she had only just awoken. The book, still hidden under her blanket, punctured her hip like an unwanted insect as she turned and twisted.

"Did you oversleep, Miss Scott?" Blair asked the servant innocently, hiding her amusement behind a false yawn, "it must be 9 o'clock already."

The woman turned towards her with a cold smile. "It is 10 o'clock, Miss, and it was the Master's orders, not my good will."

Blair gave a curt nod, careful not to let it show on her face how pleased she was. "And will the Master be waiting downstairs for me?" she asked in what she hoped was an off-handed tone while she busied herself with propping her back up against the pillows.

She thought she detected a faint knowing smirk on the other woman's lips before she shook her head. "No, Miss, he already went out to meet his attorney. But the butler has laid out a breakfast for you in the kitchen."

"In the kitchen?" Blair repeated in disbelief.

"I thought it would not be proper for you to eat in the salon when the Master is not present," the housekeeper replied solemnly, folding her hands over her skirts.

The unspoken implications reverberated in the air between them, but Blair refused to rise to the bait. "I'm sure this was not part of Mr. Bass's orders," she said with a tight smile.

"His orders were not specific on that account, Miss."

"You should know that Lady Baizen tried to put me in the kitchen as well, but she had no luck with that either," Blair said with threatening sweetness.

Miss Scott let out an indignant laugh as she walked back towards the door, but stopped short before leaving the room and turned around once more, her face filled with anger. "I'm sure your _closeness_ with the Master helped you there, so you might as well make use of it with Mr. Bass in the same way."

Blair could see on the servant's features that she would never be able to sway her to her side. No matter what she did, no matter what she said, she would always confirm whatever suspicions and prejudices the servants of this house entertained.

"Why do you hate me so much, Miss Scott?" she asked, more out of curiosity than resentment.

The other woman shook her head almost sadly. "I don't hate you, Miss Waldorf, for that would be a sin." She paused for a moment, regarding Blair with stern, judging eyes that reminded her of Lady Baizen. "I just don't like you and the way you live your life, luring honest men into an amoral life."

A small forlorn smile tugged at her lips at the servant's naivety that felt too familiar to bear. So she turned her head towards the window to hide the hurt behind the glaring rays of sunlight.

"I don't know if you will believe me, Miss Scott, but I was a respectable, innocent and pious girl once," she said quietly, "but it did not save me from what I have become."

"Do you need help getting dressed, Miss?" was the only response the servant offered.

Blair waved her hand in dismissal. "No, but you can tell the butler that I'm not hungry."

Hearing the door close behind Miss Scott, she closed her eyes for a long moment, trying to focus on the incessant thumping of the mill and the murmurs and laughter down in the yard, hoping to drown out her own thoughts. However, she could not stop the tears rising behind her eyelids.

She longed for Serena's arms and her advice, even though she still felt betrayed by her friend's absence. It seemed so out of character for Serena to just leave her to fend for herself in a stranger's house that Blair now wondered if something had kept her friend from visiting.

Eyes flying open with realization, Blair scrambled out of bed as quickly as her body would allow. If Serena did not come to her, she would just visit her herself, if only to assure herself that her friend was not lying in an unmarked grave on the Oldham cemetery. And while she was at it, she might as well use the outing to post a letter to Lady Baizen, telling her about the arrangement with Mr. Bass.

Hastily, she slipped into a shift and tied her corset tightly before combing through the selection of yet unworn dresses in her wardrobe. Her fingers came to rest on a demure high-waisted crème muslin gown, the sleeves and hemline trimmed with beautifully deep green lace. She knew it was a gown befitting a blushing debutante rather than a fallen woman and wondered why Mr. Bass had thought it suitable for her; still, she pulled it out and held it up to her body in front of the mirror.

Blair had spent enough time in society to know that a dress like this on a woman with her reputation would be noticed, and would have Miss Scott pray for her soul in the Sunday mass. Smiling at the thought, she slipped into the dress, enjoying the smooth material sliding over her skin. With relief she found that it could be buttoned in the front, though thinking that if Mr. Bass had been present, she might have liked to tease him some more. Her thoughts toyed with the impropriety of the idea and how rough and gentle his fingers had felt on her neck.

Checking her appearance in the dressing mirror, she was surprised to see that her cheeks already had a pleasant color without having had to rub them with a towel, the pale gown accentuating the milky hue of her skin. While combing through her hair with her fingers and tying it with loosely with a red satin sash, she searched the floor for her shoes and quickly slipped into them when discovering them near the dresser.

Nodding to herself in the mirror, she grabbed her old straw bonnet and money purse and started towards the door. As she stepped onto the gallery, she let her eyes adjust to the now familiar darkness. A few candelabras down in the entrance hall had been lit, but no ray of daylight penetrated the shadows.

Carefully, she made her way down the steps to the entrance door, wondering if anyone would stop her or if she would find the heavy door locked. There was no sound except her nervous breathing and the clap of her slippers on the marble floor. Without looking back into the blackness, she pulled on the door handle. It opened with some effort and creaking, but it was not locked. Swiftly, she slipped out into the morning chill, goose bumps appearing on her arms as she crossed the yard. The sun was only just beginning to heat the air, where by the afternoon it would be unbearable and stifling.

As she made her way to the gate, she noticed the whispers following her. Hence, she forced herself to slow her gait and make eye contact with as many workers as would look at her. Some of them took off their hats in greeting, some only nodded, some turned away, but she tried to hold her head high and smile at all of them, and not let them see that she wished she had taken the servant's entrance.

Seeing Miss Scott and Mr. Linton talking at the gatehouse, she forged her lips into the most amicable smile. "Mr. Linton," she greeted with a well-practiced nod, ignoring his eyes traveling her body and imagining him being chased from the mill by an angry mob. "Miss Scott," Blair acknowledged icily, feeling the other woman's disapproval in the censure of her eyes and her rigid posture.

"Might I say that you look lovely today, Miss Waldorf," the overseer said sweetly, oblivious to the housekeeper's apparent displeasure.

Blair inclined her head gracefully. "Thank you for your compliments, Mr. Linton."

"I take it you are on your way out?"

"Indeed I am, Mr. Linton. I have some urgent business in town," Blair said as she turned to leave. "Some social calls."

"Then, we shouldn't keep Miss Waldorf from visiting her _friends, _Mr. Linton," Miss Scott called after her, in a tone heavy with underlying accusations that Blair answered with a tight smile.

"Oh, that is good to hear, Miss," Mr. Linton said jovially, deaf to the tension between the two women. "It is a pastime much better suited for you," he added while wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. "I don't know what Mr. Bass was thinking."

"You question my abilities then, Mr. Linton?" Blair challenged, refusing to overhear his insult.

"No, no, Miss Waldorf," he retracted, waving his arms nervously. "I didn't mean to offend." With fascination Blair watched the drops of sweat on his upper lips multiply as he cleared his throat several times. "I only meant to say that a stuffy office is no place for a Lady such as yourself."

Blair knew exactly what he was trying to say. That a woman had no place in business. She could read the thoughts on his face easily, since those thoughts had also swirled through her own mind many times. A few months ago, she would have surely condemned any woman working in a men's business as unnatural or amoral. Even though Mr. Bass seemed to trust in her skills, she was not quite so convinced herself. However, she knew that to satisfy those around her, she had to wear an iron mask of confidence.

"I guess it is for Mr. Bass to decide how he wants to use me," Blair chirped innocently, but holding their gaze for a long moment. "I bid you good day," she said as she turned her back on them and walked out of the gate out into the busy street, feeling their eyes on her until she had turned the next corner.

Exhaling an incredulous laugh, she was surprised how easy it had been for her to leave the mill. As she continued down the slender alleys, she occasionally glanced over her shoulder, assuring herself that she was not being followed. She did not know if she had expected armed soldiers to bar her way or dogs being sent to hunt her down, but after years of having to ask for permission to leave the house, it frightened and exhilarated her that she could do as she pleased and go where she wanted.

For half an hour she strolled aimlessly through the sunlit cobblestone streets, admiring the displays in the shopkeepers' windows and the town's busy energy. Errand boys and kitchen maids were hurrying by, fully stocked mule carts making their way to the market, well-dressed gentlemen on horse passing through the dusty streets.

Blair realized that the color of her dress had been ill-chosen for a town stroll, since the hemline had already turned a horrid shade of grey and because it drew attention to her person. Despite the absence of gloves, a parasol and a carriage, several gentlemen and shop owners bowed or lifted their hat in greeting, possibly believing her to be a wealthy lady or mill owner's wife. For this moment it felt delightful not to be me met with hostile and reproachful glances, but to be looked at with admiration and respect.

Though the sky was hazy and the air smelled and tasted like the thick, musty smoke from the factories and mills, the town seemed alluring to her for the first time.

After following some twists and turns through the withered streets without recognizing a single stone or house, Blair eventually asked a passing servant girl to show her the way to _The Lion_. As directed she followed the alleyway leading to the market square, soon hearing hard, fast steps approaching her from behind. A familiar voice called out her name, echoing along the narrow lane.

When she turned around, she immediately recognized Thomas's pale, round face and gave him a warm smile.

"Miss Waldorf, it is so nice to see you," the small boy said in a breathy voice as he came to a halt before her.

"It is very good to see you too, Thomas, especially after what you did for me after my fall," Blair said sincerely, reaching out to touch his shoulder tenderly.

Quickly, he averted his eyes, his fingers fluttering nervously over the buttons of his shirt. "It's quite alright, Miss," he mumbled.

"If there is anything I could do to repay your kindness –" Blair prodded, unsure if he would expect some material gratitude from her.

"No, Miss," he said hastily, shaking his head without meeting her eye. "There is no need. I'm just glad you are well now. Miss Serena was very worried."

Blair smiled down at the boy, his humbleness filling her with an odd sense of pride. She pushed him along gently, signaling him to accompany her as she continued on her way to the tavern.

"I'm very sorry I was the cause of her distress, so I would like to visit her today," she said with a tense smile, thinking of how she would have needed Serena during her own troubles. "Do you know if she is in her room?"

"Oh yes, Miss," Thomas answered eagerly as they reached the entrance of _The Lion_. "She will be so happy to see you."

"Do you think I can go up to her room?" Blair asked, looking doubtfully up to the windows of the upper floor.

A grin spread over the boy's face as he meet Blair's gaze. "It is only Arthur in there now and I'm sure he won't mind, Miss."

"I guess I will try my luck then, Thomas," she replied teasingly. As she put her fingers on the door handle, she remembered that she had wanted to post a note for Lady Baizen.

She turned around to the young boy once more. "Thomas, could you tell me where the post office is? I would like to send a message to Lady Baizen later."

"Gladly, Miss, but I can also deliver your message," he offered shyly. "It will be no bother at all."

Blair couldn't help but smile at his generous suggestion. "I think I would be lost without you, Thomas," she said warmly while opening her money purse. "I will pay you for your troubles, of course."

"But Miss –"

"No, there will be no argument," Blair said sternly as she grabbed the boy's hand and shoved three coins in his palm, closing his fingers over it. "Please tell Lady Baizen that all is settled with Mr. Bass and she can send the child to the mill in the next days."

Thomas nodded and smiled timidly before turning around to run across the market square in the direction of Twelve Oak's Manor.

With a sigh, Blair finally stepped into the inn, the now well-known mix of stale alcohol and other abhorrent odors assaulting her nose immediately. The bar room was empty except for Arthur, who had his back turned towards her and was busy polishing one of tables with a dirty rag.

To get his attention, she cleared her throat loudly. When he turned around, his eyes widened in surprise, the leathery skin of his face stretching into a grin.

"Ah, lass, you are looking more beautiful than ever," he said with a welcoming sweep of his arms as if he wanted to draw her into a hug. "I see Mr. Bass has taken good care of you."

Blair only nodded wordlessly.

Arthur took a step towards her, apparently wanting to have a closer look at her. "I wasn't sure we would see you again when he took you. Looked as if you were not long for this world, child." It almost sounded as if he had been concerned about her, so Blair for once refrained from being angry with him for calling her 'child'.

"Well, I'm still here as you can see, Sir," she said kindly. "I apologize if I caused you any troubles."

He let out a bellowing laugh. "No need to apologize to me, lass. But Martha on the other hand might have a mind to hang and quarter you," he said with a merry twinkle in his eyes. "She had to close the back rooms for a few days until she had cleaned up all the blood and, of course, we lost two of our richest patrons that night."

Blair grimaced. "Of course." It had never dawned on her that _The Lion_ had lost some valuable customers due to her misfortune, though she believed she had done the inn a favor in ridding it of Mr. Baizen.

"So Mr. Bass has not been here since that night?" she asked uncertainly, mulling the old man's words.

He smiled knowingly. "Why would he, child? When he has you for himself now," he said with a wink that Blair answered with an indignant huff.

Arthur only chuckled in amusement. "Come now, lass. You can't play coy with me. You wouldn't be askin' if you weren't interested in my answer."

"I have not come here to discuss my feelings with you, Sir," she scoffed angrily, strategically avoiding a response. "I've only come here to visit Serena."

"I won't be stoppin' you," he said with a wave of his hands towards the staircase. "But make sure you don't run into my wife."

She had almost feared Arthur would tell her that Serena had suffered from a terrible accident or had been kidnapped by one of the patrons, but his unperturbed attitude told her that nothing of the sort had happened.

Relieved but also irritated, Blair crossed the bar room and made her way upstairs to the girls' rooms. As it was barely past midday, the hallway was eerily silent as the girls were most likely still sleeping. Hesitantly, Blair approached Serena's door, unsure if her presence would be welcome.

Still, her anger and bewilderment at her friend's absence outweighed her uncertainty, so that she finally lifted her hand to knock loudly against the wood.

Hearing some quiet noises and shuffles behind the door, she tried to school her features into a friendly mask to be prepared for any kind of reaction from Serena.

The door opened with a forceful pull, revealing a barely awake and presentable Serena. Slowly, her eyes focused on Blair's face and recognition spread over her features. Suddenly, she let out a loud gasp and swiftly embraced Blair in a tight and almost painful hug. All doubts about Serena's loyalty and love were pushed to the back of her mind in that instant, and she wound her arms around her friend's back, holding her tight and burying her face in her tangled, blonde tresses.

"Don't cry," Serena said with a watery laugh as she took Blair's face into her hands, wiping away the tears with her thumbs.

"Only if you don't," Blair laughed with her.

Serena looked more haggard and tired than she remembered, her eyes red and swollen from lack of sleep or the smoke in the club.

"You should be eating more," Blair said seriously, jabbing her index finger into her friend's stomach gently.

"Only if you do," Serena replied, letting her eyes trail pointedly over Blair's figure until landing once more on her face. With a pained look, Serena stroked back Blair's hair as if wanting to make sure that her coiffure was still neat and proper. Grabbing her hands, she pulled her fully into her dingy room, and closed the door behind them.

"I like your dress," Serena added almost as an afterthought, "not something I thought I would ever see you wear."

Blair let out a wry chuckle as she lowered her eyes to her garment, recalling Mr. Bass's schemes and ploys in order to get her into this dress. "Trust me, me neither," she said, smoothing out a small wrinkle, "to be honest, I did not really want to wear them at first, but now –"

Unexpectedly, she felt Serena grasp her chin, forcing her to lift her head to meet her eyes. "Did _he_ give it to you?"

"What if he did?" Blair asked, shrugging her shoulders defiantly, already guessing Serena's train of thought.

However, her friend lowered her head and scrunched her eyes shut tightly as if in pain. When she spoke again it was only to their joined hands. "Blair, I was so worried about you after he took you away from _The Lion_ that night. I didn't know what to do, and there was so much blood –," Serena's voice cracked and she took a deep breath before continuing, " – so I just let him leave with you," she whispered.

Blair opened her mouth to reassure Serena that it did not matter, that she would have done the same, that this decision saved her life, but her throat went dry at the thought that her best friend had left her alone once more. So she remained mute, pressing Serena to fill the silence.

She finally lifted her head to meet Blair's eyes, her own shimmering with unshed tears. "I'm so sorry, Blair. I shouldn't have. I shouldn't have," she continued, shaking her head in agony, "the stories I have heard about him and the fire –" she trailed off, searching Blair's face carefully. "If he did something –"

Before Serena could finish her sentence, Blair disentangled herself from her friend's hold brusquely and walked towards the small window, ripping open the curtains to let in some air and light.

"If you were so worried, why didn't you come to visit me?" she said over her shoulder, crossing her arms over stomach.

"I tried, Blair," Serena cried out behind her, "I came to that wretched house several times and asked to see you, but the servants would not let me in, they would not pass on any of my messages, and the housekeeper swore that Mr. Bass would make my life a nightmare he ever found me on his grounds."

"I just wish you –" she trailed off, not knowing how to continue. In those first lonely hours, she had liked to imagine her friend whirling into the mill and demand Blair's release as she had been wont to do during their silly childhood games; but now she saw that Serena was trapped by her own identity and fear of exposure just as she was.

"I woke up in my nightgown in the house of a strange man, with no idea where I was or how I got there," Blair said quietly, moving to sit down on the settee. "I hope you will never have to experience that."

She heard Serena's hesitant steps before she sank down to her knees in front of her, "I didn't know what to do, Blair, and I was so scared," her friend said, reaching out to clasp clasping Blair's hands in her own and squeezing them firmly, "please forgive me."

Studying their intertwined hands, and how her own hung limp in Serena's firm grasp, she knew in heart that there was nothing to forgive. Still, she could not find the strength to look into her friend's eyes as she consented with a short nod.

"Now, please tell me he didn't hurt you," Serena said, her voice raw but steady. "And when you answer, I want you to look at me, Blair."

Blair took a deep, theatrical sigh and lifted her eyes to Serena's. "He did not hurt me," she enunciated firmly for her friend's benefit. "He saved my life."

Serena only nodded solemnly, tightening her grip on her hand. "Did he take advantage of you?"

Feeling the heat rushing to her cheeks, Blair shook her head fervently. "No, Serena. He did nothing I did not want him to do."

Her friend seemed to be weighing her answer for a few moments. "Did you lay with him then?" she continued bluntly, causing Blair's eyes to widen with horror.

"Serena!" she exclaimed angrily, trying unsuccessfully to withdraw her hands from her friend's iron grip. "Where are all these questions coming from?"

"I have been hearing things in town and from the girls and I –"

"Would it really be so terrible if I had?" Blair asked tartly. "You have been doing it throughout our whole adolescence."

Serena's eyes narrowed at her words, but her features remained calm. She held up one of her hands in defeat. "Blair, would you let me finish?"

As she shrugged silently, Serena let out a small sigh and rolled her eyes.

"I only wanted to say that I would prefer to hear it from you – if it is true."

Wanting for once in her life to be the daring one, she was almost tempted to tell Serena how she had seduced Mr. Bass and lain with him in all imaginable positions; but she did not want to lie to her, not about this. "I have not bedded him, Serena," she finally admitted, lowering her eyes to avoid her friend's propping gaze, "but I did kiss him."

Feeling Serena's fingers under her chin, Blair took a deep breath before lifting her head once more. "That's all right, Blair," she said intently, her features tense but without judgment, "you don't have to feel guilty."

She let out a small laugh as she realized that in all of this, it had never crossed her mind how her husband might feel about her decisions. "I don't," she stated with surprised conviction.

Serena's face broke into a smile, leaning forward to kiss her forehead. "I taught you well," she said when she drew back, cupping Blair's cheek tenderly with her hand.

Chuckling softly, Blair playfully swatted away her friend's hand. With a pout Serena rose from the ground and mussed up Blair's hair in retaliation, before picking up a comb from her vanity and starting to untangle her blonde locks.

"So, do you like him?" she said teasingly over her shoulder, all the while combing with enough force to rip out strands of hair.

"If you keep doing this, you will be bald in one week," Blair chided as she got up from the settee and wrenched the comb from her friend's fingers. "Here, let me," she said, pushing Serena down onto the stool in front of the vanity. "I fancy him enough to kiss him, I guess," she answered her friend's question evasively as she tried to smooth out the knots in the thick tresses.

"At least there was some grain of truth to the rumors then," Serena teased.

As the words sunk in, Blair was reminded of something her friend had said earlier, "Serena, what are they saying in town?"

She could feel her friend's eye on her in the mirror, regarding her carefully. "It is of no consequence, Blair."

"It is to me, S. You know that," she said while parting the thick hair, determined to master the unruly mane with a braid.

"B, it is only gossip," the blonde mop of hair in front of her said pleadingly.

"Which you were more than ready to believe a few moments ago," she answered, yanking Serena's tresses forcefully to keep her from turning her head. "You know I will find out another way, if you do not tell me."

Serena lifted her hand to rub the back of her head, her face contorted with pain. "Would you please let go of my hair before I tell you?"

With a sweet smile, Blair finished the braid and patted the top of Serena's head fondly. "There."

Running her hand over her tightly bound locks, Serena looked less than pleased. "I think I last had a braid when I was 13."

Blair leaned over and placed the comb pack on the dresser. "I know," she said with a sad smile, remembering the exact day it had happened - the day of Serena's first kiss, "but it is the only decent coiffure I can do myself."

She moved back over to the settee, carefully straightening her dress over legs as she sat down. "Now, tell me what they are saying."

Taking a deep breath, Serena turned around to face Blair. "They are saying that Mr. Bass throws wild orgies in his cellars, where he seduces innocent spinner girls," she said almost apologetically, "they are also saying that his blindness is god's wrath for his pact with the devil."

Blair could not help but laugh, "That is beyond ridiculous, Serena."

Instead of joining in, however, her friend lowered her eyes, which, Blair knew, meant that she would not like what came next. "They are saying that you are his whore," Serena stated quietly, "or his mistress, if they are kinder."

Though she felt like falling into a bottomless hole, Blair shook her head, struggling to keep an amused expression on her face. "You can't tell me that people believe such nonsense," she bit out cheerfully.

"Some even believe you are his slave or a human blood sacrifice, depending on whom you ask," Serena answered with an uneasy chuckle. Yet, when her friend looked up at her, a deep frown appeared on her forehead which told Blair that she had seen through her charade.

"They believe what they want to believe," Serena said in a voice meant to be comforting, "you should know that better than anyone."

Her head started to feel dizzy as she remembered how fond she had been just a few months ago of threatening other girls with spreading ugly tales about their character, just to put them in their place. Back when she had had all the power and they were nothing.

Trying to mask the hot tears that had gathered in her eyes, she let out an unbelieving laugh. "I guess I never thought it would feel so final."

"It is not," Serena said earnestly as she rose from her seat at the vanity and sat down beside Blair. "Just look at _me_."

"And what am I supposed to see?" Blair responded sourly. "My future? Will I spend the rest of my life in a filthy brothel, pleasuring men like Mr. Baizen?"

As she watched Serena's face harden, Blair knew she had gone too far. So she grabbed her friend's hand and squeezed it, silently asking for forgiveness.

Serena smiled weakly, but gave her a soft squeeze in return. "I know you are upset, Blair, but don't take it out on me."

Blair nodded, but did not loosen her grip. Not knowing what to say, she let her gaze sweep the small room, taking in the remnants of last night's activities – the unmade bed, the half-emptied wine bottle on the night stand, discarded stockings and ribbons cluttering the floor and a black top-hat dangling on the open door of Serena's wardrobe.

Sighing, Blair fixed her attention back on her friends pale face, which seemed to have followed her inspection of the interior carefully. "Do you like your new patron, S?"

"He is nice enough and he pays well," she replied with a shrug of her shoulders.

"Does he also treat you well?" Blair implored, lifting her hand to cup her friend's face.

"He is nice enough," Serena repeated in a stern tone, telling Blair that the discussion was over.

Letting her hand fall back to her lap, Blair regarded her friend for a long moment. "What are we still doing here, S?"

Serena took a deep breath, a smile forming on her lips that did not quite reach her eyes. "We are free."

"Are you?" Blair responded with a pointed look to her friend's rumpled bed. "Because I don't feel that I am."

"We are free to make our own choices at least, B," Serena replied with an untroubled determination, that Blair had never resented more than in this moment.

"Free to be a whore, you mean?" Blair spat as she rose from the settee to put some space between them. "Free to jump into bed with Mr. Bass just as I please. Isn't that what you would have me do?"

Serena caught her wrist calmly and pulled her down again onto the sofa, remaining quiet until Blair had found the courage to look her in the eye. "Yes," she finally answered with a shrug. "If it is what you want, you should be a whore."

"It is not that easy, S." Though she wished it was as simple as in her friend's mind.

"I know," Serena said with a sad smile, and Blair thought she detected a hint of disappointment in her eyes as she let go of her hand.

"I had a letter from your mother asking about you," Blair stated, trying to shift the conversation away from her own shortcomings. As she had expected, Serena's posture immediately turned as rigid as a hard-backed chair. "She says she is ready to forgive and forget, if you only returned home."

Serena's eyes met hers for a long moment before she rose and walked towards the wooden wardrobe. "You know I can't, B. I can't go back to that life," she stated, while ruffling through the choice of robes and dresses in front of her.

"S, don't you see how lucky you are? To have someone that loves you and misses you and wants you back?"

Pulling out a silky green dressing gown, Serena slipped into it quickly, tying the sash around her waist loosely. "It is not enough. Not for me." As she sat back down in front of the vanity mirror, she quietly regarded her reflection for a long moment.

Blair gestured to the room in frustration. "Is this enough for you? Is this what you dreamed of when you ran away?"

Serena shook her head, her fingers hovering over a myriad of glittering hair pins and feathered hair bands on her dresser. "What else is there? Become a maid or a governess?" she asked disdainfully, finally deciding on a deep red barrette adorned with pale pink gemstones. "Wake up Blair. You tried to do everything properly and look where it got you?" Serena continued as she fastened her braid into a bun, strategically pulling out a few tendrils to frame her face. "You are the most buttoned-up person I know and people still think you are a wanton harlot."

Watching as her friend applied rouge and perfumed creams to transform herself into the fresh-faced young girl she was supposed to be, Blair wondered whether Serena was not the wise one. "So what do I do now, S?" she asked gravely, "There is no home I can return to."

Apparently satisfied with her appearance, Serena turned around once more. "Then make yourself a new home, B," she said with a hint of irritation.

Blair laughed incredulously. "Here? Where everyone hates me?"

Letting out an exasperated sigh, Serena pulled Blair to her feet forcefully before pushing her down on the place she had just vacated. "You know that some nasty rumors don't mean that everyone hates you," she lectured while she untied and combed her hair, "_and_ I'm sure that some people might be feeling quite the opposite about you," she taunted Blair with an accompanying tug on her locks.

"I'm sure I don't know what you are talking about," Blair said with as much indignation as she could muster.

"In any case," Serena continued cheerily as if she hadn't heard her, "you can make your home anywhere in this world, silly," she said almost giddily as she arranged Blair's hair into an elegant twisted bun that she last remembered wearing on Christmas eve last year. It had been the evening she had told her husband of her pregnancy and it had been the first time since their wedding that he had looked at her with something akin to love – at least that was what she had told herself at the time.

Through the haze of her thoughts, she could hear her friend's chatter as if muffled by a thick layer of heavy fog, " – it could be here in Oldham, or maybe in Persia, or in Paris, or the new Americas."

"But why is it so hard letting go of the home I almost had?" Blair asked the reflection in front of her.

Serena's face came into view next to hers as she crouched down beside her and wrapped her arms around her shoulders tightly. "Blair, you have to let go of the past," she heard her say close to her ear, her fingers squeezing her upper arms firmly, "your baby is buried and your husband is divorcing you." The words cut into her like a shard of cold glass, her eyes snapping up to connect with her friend's in the mirror. "Promise me that from now on we will only look forward," Serena whispered, while pulling her closer to her body. Blair tasted the salt of her tears on the edge of her lips as she nodded and turned to kiss Serena softly on the cheek.

A timid knock on the door broke them apart. Letting out a long sigh, Serena wiped away Blair's tears with a quick stroke of her thumb before rising to straighten her attire. With a quick nod to herself, she called in the visitor with a practiced cheerfulness that sent chills down Blair's spine.

The door opened slowly before Thomas's face appeared. Blair couldn't suppress a small smile as she noticed the deep red blush on his cheeks and the way his eyelashes fluttered up and down nervously. "Can I come in, Miss Serena?" he asked in a barely audible voice.

"Of course, Thomas, make yourself at home," Serena answered with a inviting smile, turning the whole expanse of his neck into a flaming sign of his distress.

He stepped in reluctantly, barely lifting his feet from the ground. "Actually, I have business for Miss Waldorf," he mumbled, his eyes glued to the ground.

"Did Lady Baizen send a message for me?"

The boy paused for a long moment before his eyes flitted up to her face. "She sent the two young Misses in their carriage. They are waiting outside, Miss," he sputtered hastily before ducking his head as if expecting a slap.

"Both of them? " Blair rose from the settee so quickly that she almost fainted from the sharp pain cutting through her body. Letting out a small moan, she clasped her hands over stomach, scrunching her eyes shut tightly till it had subsided to a dull throb. Her head spun at the thought to have to bring both girls back to the mill and explain this unfortunate situation to Mr. Bass.

Taking a long, unsteady breath, she opened her eyes, only to find herself confronted with the worried faces of Serena and Thomas.

"You can't just leave them downstairs by themselves, Thomas," Blair said with a tight smile, dismissing their stares, her fingers smoothing the fabric of her dress over her stomach.

"I apologize, Miss Waldorf," he stuttered, red spots appearing on his pale cheeks, "but Lady Baizen told me that they were not to leave their carriage before arriving at Mr. Bass's mill."

"You did right, Thomas," Serena interjected chirpily, "I'm sure Lady Baizen would not want her daughters to be seen in an establishment such as this," she said with a scolding glance at Blair.

She abhorred being chided like a naughty child, but realized that Thomas, least of all people, did not deserve her venom. So she took a step towards the boy and touched his arm gently. "Thank you, Thomas," she said warmly. "Did Lady Baizen say something else to you?"

Eyes widening as if surprised by her question, he swiftly shook his head. "No, Miss, she did not talk to me at all. Just the servant. I gave your message to the servant and she told me to wait outside. Some time later she brought out the two misses with her Lady's orders."

"Is Lady Baizen unwell?"

"Miss Jenny –," he stopped short, suddenly looking flushed, "the _servant,_" he corrected himself in a loud voice, "said that Lady Baizen has to take care of her husband and that he can't rest with two children in the house." Not only Thomas's shifting skin color, but also his reluctance to meet her gaze told Blair that he probably hadn't paid much attention to what had come out of Jenny's mouth.

"Of course he can't," Blair said sweetly, casting a questioning glance at Serena, who only shrugged.

"Maybe," Blair purred, turning her attention back to Thomas, "I have another message for you to deliver to Lady Baizen soon." As expected his eyes lit up with excitement at the prospect. "Perhaps you can ask Miss Jenny when we can expect his lordship and her ladyship back in society?"

He nodded his head eagerly. "I would be happy to do it, Miss Waldorf."

"It is settled then." She leaned forward and gave him a small kiss on his cheek. When she drew back, his eyes were so wide, that she almost regretted using him for her own purposes. He was not more than a child after all. "Thank you, Thomas. Please be so kind and tell the girls I will be right down."

With a short nod, Thomas rushed out of the room, his hurried steps echoing in the hallway.

"You are terrible, Blair," Serena said in amused tone, poking her arm in mock reproach.

Blair only rolled her eyes in response. "It is not like I'm not doing him a favor as well, S. Though I'm doubtful Jenny will reciprocate his feelings. She seems to have her aim set on higher things." In fact, she knew that Jenny would be less than pleased by Thomas's attention. Yet, despite the unease spreading through her body, she refused to feel guilty. "Still, it doesn't hurt to try, right?" she added more for her own than Serena's sake.

Her friend smiled indulgently as she walked towards her bed, letting Blair know without words that she did not approve. "If you don't take care, he will be in love with _you_ soon, B."

Frowning, Serena surveyed the mess of blankets and pillows for a moment before shifting the pile from one end of the mattress to the other. A small satisfied squeal escaped her lips as she lifted two rumpled, white stockings from the sheets. "Besides," she said, sitting down on the edge of the bed to smooth the silken garments over her calves and thighs, "why do you care what is going on up there? It is not like he can ever show up in polite society again without being whispered about or laughed at. Everybody knows what happened to him."

"Maybe I just want to know he is suffering," Blair said icily, watching Serena carefully fasten the stockings with a red ribbon.

Lifting her head, Serena regarded Blair for a long moment. "Believe me, he is," she said imploringly. "That night, when he came to _The Lion,_ he was drunk. He kept asking to see me, but I told Arthur and Martha that I was scared of him and wanted nothing to do with him." She was no longer looking at Blair, her gaze lost and unseeing. "Arthur had thrown him out. I watched it from my window. It was too dark to see anything, just the light from windows."

Since Mr. Bass had refused to divulge any knowledge he had of this incident, Blair felt desperate to get a glimpse at the truth. "What happened then, S?" she whispered hoarsely.

Serena wrinkled her forehead, as if trying to call back a long forgotten memory. "Another man appeared and said something to Mr. Baizen. Mr. Baizen was trying to hit him, but stumbled. The other one pulled something out of his coat, which, I think, was the pistol. It all happened so quickly, B," she paused once more to gather her thoughts. "There was a loud bang and then Mr. Baizen fell to the ground. I thought at first that he was dead, but then he started screaming, and I saw the blood on his breeches."

"And the other man? What did he look like?" Blair asked with bated breath. If Mr. Bass had played a role in this as she suspected, the gunman might be somebody she already knew.

Her eyes refocusing on Blair's, Serena shook her head regretfully. "He was no more than a shadow, B. Before I knew what had happened, he was already gone."

She opened her mouth, wanting to press Serena for more details, but had to admit to herself that the truth she was seeking was not to be found here.

Blair straightened her back as if going into combat. "I better go, S. The girls are waiting," she said with a rueful smile.

Jumping up from the bed, Serena pulled her into a hug so tight that Blair could smell the expensive orange-scented oil in her hair. "Promise you will come and visit me again soon, B?" her friend said in low, muffled voice against her neck that raised goose bumps along her spine.

She pulled back and saw the weary look in Serena's eyes, as if she was afraid that they might never see each other again. "I promise, S," she said reassuringly, rising up on tip toes to give Serena a kiss goodbye on her cheek before stepping away from her.

As she closed Serena's door behind her, Blair took a deep breath before climbing down the stairs hastily to avoid Martha's wrath. After waving a quick goodbye to Arthur as she passed through the bar room, she swiftly climbed into the black carriage waiting for her in front of the inn.

One pair of alert, and another one of resentful eyes awaited her inside, looking at her expectantly.

"Hello, girls," Blair said with false cheerfulness as she sat down next to Kathy, Margaret perched on the bench across from them like a proud queen. Both children were dressed and coiffured impeccably, wearing rose-colored silk gowns with matching bonnets and stockings. It all had been masterfully arranged to show Blair that even if the children had to be sent to another person's house to be educated, they still wore more precious garments than Blair could ever imagine possessing.

"I hope you are doing well?" Blair spoke into the silence as the carriage started to move.

"I am well, Miss Waldorf," Kathy answered softly while attempting to nod. However, the heavily decorated hat on her head looked as if might snap of her small neck any minute. Without asking, Blair reached over to pull the long hat needles out of Kathy's hair and removed her bonnet.

"Better?" she asked, stroking down the child's curls to make her presentable.

Kathy nodded, smiling shyly in response. "I'm hope you enjoyed Ireland, Miss Waldorf."

She had almost forgotten that she had told the child the false story about her sick aunt in Ireland to make her sudden departure more palatable for the fragile girl.

Wanting to keep up appearances for the her, Blair forced a pleased smile onto her lips. "Yes, Kathy, it is a very beautiful and mysterious country indeed."

"We heard you took quite the fall there, Miss," Margaret cut in sweetly, though there was nothing amiable about the icy glare in her grey eyes or her frozen posture, her head held high and firm.

Blair met Margaret's eyes for a long moment until the girl averted her gaze to stare out of the window. "I took a deep fall indeed, Miss Margaret, but I'm still here, as you can see." To Blair's surprise the young girl turned her head once more to look at her, though her face remained hard.

"If Kathy had not taken such a fancy to you, I know, my mother would have never done this to us," Margaret said with a poise that Blair almost envied.

"You mean the disgrace of being taught by me and to having to come to town for your lessons?" Blair said in a calm voice, knowing that Margaret wanted to rile her. Yet, what the girl did not understand was that Blair knew better than anyone what it meant to be living in someone else's shadow, trying to create perfection that was never wanted or desired.

Margaret looked taken aback for a moment, but then gave a short nod.

"Do you think we could get along for these few hours, Miss Margaret?" Blair asked, watching the older girl's eyes study her young sister intently. Before she could answer, however, her attention was drawn to a noisy commotion outside the carriage.

Realizing that they had just turned into the courtyard of Mr. Bass's mill, Blair immediately sensed the nervous atmosphere. None of the workers was even paying attention to their richly ornamented vehicle, all eyes glued to two figures at the far end of the courtyard. She could make out Mr. Bass's terse figure quickly, but the highly agitated voice of the other man, echoing off the walls of the buildings seemed foreign to her. His wild gestures suggested that they were in a serious discussion or argument, though Mr. Bass's quiet and detached manner was even more unsettling.

She heard Margaret jump up from her seat, squeezing her small head out of the carriage window, her pale hands clasping the window frame wildly, her eyes gleaming with delight and excitement.

A slight quiver next to her drew her attention to Kathy, her wide clear eyes staring at her with a questioning expression, her lips and fingers pressed together tightly.

Blair lifted her hand to stroke her hair softly, trying to ease the tautness in her body. "Nothing will happen to you, Kathy, I promise."

The child's only response was a small shake of her head, though her eyes kept returning to her sister's form at the window.

"They are going to have a duel, Miss Waldorf," Margaret exclaimed, her voice full of disconcerting glee.

Blair leaned forward to push the girl back into her seat. "I doubt it, Miss Margaret. And even if they did, you shouldn't take so much pleasure in it."

The girl contorted her lips into a pout that Blair decided to ignore. She knew from experience that pouting was the first step to throwing a tantrum and she would have none of that in front of Mr. Bass and half of the mill's workers. "If you don't pay attention, your face may stay like that, sweetie," she said off-handedly, while watching the child's reaction from the corner of her eye. She couldn't help but be content with her own deviousness as Margaret's hands shot up to her mouth, covering it in panic.

As the carriage finally came to a halt, she held up her hand to stop the girls from moving. "You'll wait here until I fetch you. Is that understood?" she said in a tone often used by her mother when she had been especially displeased with her. Waiting till both girls had nodded their assent, she climbed out of the vehicle.

As she made her way to the two men she noticed with growing discomfiture that workers started to curtsey or take off their hat in greeting. She was torn between feeling proud that they seemed to respect her and the suspicion that they thought of her as someone who had influence on their Master in one immoral way or other.

Getting closer, she could now recognize the second man as Mr. Linton, whose face was twisted into an angry mask, his hands curled into fists, looking as if he wanted to throw a punch any minute.

Without thinking, Blair stepped forward quickly, touching Mr. Bass's upper arm softly. "What is going on here?" she asked tentatively, her eyes flickering between the two men.

She felt his arm muscles twitch under her fingers as he turned his head toward her and gave her a pained smile. "You should not be here, Miss Waldorf."

"Oh, I'm glad she is," Mr. Linton cut in brashly. "She is responsible for this after all," he spat at Blair, his eyes glinting with so much hatred that she took a step away from him.

Apparently sensing Blair's distress, Mr. Bass put one of his hands over her fingers on his arm. "Miss Waldorf," he addressed her in a calm voice, his thumb stroking the back of her hand softly, "Mr. Linton here thinks you are to blame for is his misfortune of being without employment as of this hour. He thinks you whispered it into my ear during our illicit meetings at night." She knew he meant to ridicule Mr. Linton's accusations, but she could only imagine what they had discussed before her arrival, for all the mill workers to hear. It would take no longer than a day for the gossip and exaggerated tales to spread around the whole of Oldham; how Mr. Linton had called her a harlot, how she had seduced both men for her own devious schemes, how both men had fought over her with a bloody fist fight in the yard of the mill, how she had stood there like a marble figure without uttering a word to stop it. Lady Baizen would probably never send her daughter to the mill again.

"Your little whore here just couldn't keep her nose out of my business," she heard Mr. Linton hiss. Mr. Bass's face darkened, his lips thinning into a rigid line, his fingers stilling over her skin.

"You should watch what you say, Mr. Linton," Mr. Bass responded in a voice that send chills down her spine, "my patience is dwindling."

She felt flattered that he was protecting her honor, but she also felt the need to defend herself, to be more than a mute porcelain doll. "It's quite all right, Mr. Bass," she intervened, turning her head back to the other man, "all the whores I know are far more honest than Mr. Linton," she said with a frozen smile.

Suddenly, she felt a hard grip on her arm, pulling her forcefully away from Mr. Bass. She stumbled and lost one of her slippers on the dusty cobblestones. Before she knew what had happened, she was staring in the red and sweaty face of Mr. Linton, who leered at her like a wild dog. His large hands encircled her upper arm with a grasp so painful that she was certain it would leave bruises. She squirmed to escape his hold, but his long fingernails dug into her flesh even deeper. Images of the Baizen's kitchen flashed before her eyes, the rough wood of the door scraping her back as she was pressed against it, the demanding, uninvited hands on her wrists and under her dress.

Blair felt the thick, stale breath of Mr. Linton on her cheek, her eyes searching to find Mr. Bass. He seemed to be calling to someone outside her range of vision, though she could not hear his words through the roar of voices in the courtyard.

"Why don't we test that theory, Miss Waldorf. I'm sure I can pay even better than Mr. Bass," she heard Mr. Linton whisper against her ear. Not being able to think of any other way to express her fury, she leaned back and spit in his face.

For a moment he looked surprised, but just a second later his eyes rolled into the back of his head and his grasp on her slackened. Slowly, he sank to the ground, he head hitting the stones with a nauseating thud. Blood started pooling from the back of his head, and its color reminded her of the red poppies that had ornamented her night stand once. Behind her she heard distant screams for a doctor, but she could do nothing but stare at the motionless figure in front of her.

Next to Mr. Linton's body she noticed a stone as big as a man's fist, the dark spots on it suggesting that someone from the crowd hat thrown it at his head. Quickly, she let her gaze sweep the people in the yard, but most of the workers stared at the scene in shock or surprise. Only Mr. Bass's old butler caught her attention. He and Mr. Bass were talking quietly a few steps away from her. She could not overhear their conversation; however, she caught the servant tuck a gleaming, strangely shaped object back into the inside pocket of his coat.

As her mind grasped for clarity, her gaze wandered back to the man on the ground; a few of the women workers now crouching beside him, trying to stop the bleeding with some of the fabric the cotton bales were delivered in.

A light touch on her shoulders startled her, her thoughts already planning to use the abandoned stone as a weapon. However, when she spun around, the concerned eyes of a vaguely familiar face were studying her. In the back of her mind Blair recognized him as one of the worker who had so kindly offered to show her to Mr. Bass's office the other day. In his left hand he was holding her lost slipper. "Are you all right, Miss? He didn't hurt you, did he?" he asked calmly as if not to spook her.

She gave him a grateful smile and took her shoe from his hand. As she slid it back on, her eyes fell onto the carriage with a small, pale face peering out of the window. Margaret. Of course, she had not obeyed her instructions.

"Excuse me, Sir," she muttered to the man next to her and marched towards the carriage, watching the face disappear back into the darkness. When she opened the door, Margaret was occupied with straightening the wrinkles in her dress and avoiding eye contact. Kathy, however, had pulled up her knees to her body and had covered her ears with her hands, her eyes shut tightly. She must have heard the commotion outside or maybe her sister had given her a detailed account of the events in the yard.

Gently, she laced her hand through the child's and drew it away from her ear. Surprised, Kathy's eyes opened and stared at her in bewilderment and something that looked like relief. "It is all right now, Kathy," Blair cooed quietly, "I will take you into the house now."

"Is the dead man still outside?" Kathy asked hesitantly.

Blair cast a reproachful look at Margaret, who at least felt guilty enough to blush, before tugging on the small child's arm so she would leave her seat. She wanted the girl to see what was going on for herself instead of being scared by her sister's tales.

She took Kathy's hands in her own and stepped to the side so she could have a clear view of the yard. "Look over my shoulder, Kathy. He is not dead, just unconscious," Blair said with forced levity while her mind wished it to be otherwise. "I promise he will be fine."

The child's eyes moved restlessly over the scene before her, before coming to a halt on Mr. Linton's limp form that was still sprawled out on the ground. Blair imagined that the girl was waiting for a sign of life before she nodded, obviously satisfied.

Since she could not lift her, Blair led Kathy down the narrow steps with her hands and urged her to jump onto the ground. Still, she felt the pull on the severed skin and muscles in her stomach, clenching her teeth sharply so as to not alert anyone.

Margaret neither sought nor asked for her assistance but instead decided to jump down from the carriage door with an exhilarated yelp reminding Blair that, despite her demeanor, she was still very much a child. Feeling the eyes of the driver on her neck, she knew that everything would be reported in detail to Lady Baizen, yet Blair decided to refrain from scolding the girl for the display of unrefined behavior.

"Come now, girls," Blair commanded, leading Kathy by the hand towards the main house, past curious whispers and prying eyes that had already tired of the bloody scene. She could tell that even Margaret felt intimidated by how close she kept to her side.

A few people still crowded around the body, trying to wake him with cheek pats and wet clothes; however, Mr. Bass and his butler had disappeared.

When Blair opened the heavy front door to let them in, the thick darkness of the entrance hall greeted them, their steps reverberating hollowly in the marble hall. Kathy froze almost immediately, her fingers becoming limp and damp in Blair's hold.

"What is it?" Blair asked concerned, looking down into the soft, round face.

"I think we have been here before, Miss," Margaret answered, her voice uncertain and unusually quiet.

Blair furrowed her eyebrows. "Perhaps, you were here on a visit when you were younger," she suggested to appease the children, but hardly convinced herself.

"I can't imagine what other reason our mother would have to take us to this dirty house," Margaret said in an indignant voice, scrunching up her nose. "Don't you have a housekeeper?"

Blair smiled at the thought that Miss Scott might be listing behind the kitchen door, but reminded herself that she had to punish the girl's insolent behavior. She crouched down next to child and grabbed her shoulder with her free hand to turn her body towards her. However, the girl crossed her arms over chest defiantly and wrenched herself out of Blair's reach.

"Mr. Bass has a housekeeper, Margaret, and he is very generous in letting us use his house for your lessons, so you should not insult him," Blair said sternly.

Margaret only shrugged her shoulders, refusing to meet her eyes. "My father says he is a cripple and a thief and that he burned down his own mill." The child's remarks strengthened Blair's conviction that there was a hostile history to the two men's relationship she was not privy to.

"He says Mr. Bass is a monster," Kathy whispered into the darkness, her fingernails now digging into Blair's skin.

"Don't be silly, Kathy," Margaret chided, "that was only a story."

Blair looked from one girl to the other, her mind desperately trying to find a way to ease the tension After the rebuke from her sister, Kathy was now staring at the floor, while Margaret was one careless word away from throwing a tantrum. She sighed deeply, whishing she had asked her mother about child-rearing when she still had the opportunity. When she had fallen pregnant, she had believed everything would just fall into place once the child was born. The most important thing then had been to choose the right color for the nursery.

"No more squabbling, girls. Let's get on with your lessons," she finally said, pushing the children towards the library with gentle strength.

When Blair opened the door, the children were reluctant to enter, their eyes studying the rows of paper and leather with apprehensive curiosity.

"Come on, nothing will bite you in here," Blair said over her shoulder while walking towards the windows. Swiftly, she pulled the heavy drapes aside to let in more light, releasing clouds of dust into the dim rays.

When she turned around, she saw Margaret walking the shelves with a skeptical expression that evoked images of the girls' mother, whereas Kathy was still hovering at the door.

"Why does Mr. Bass need books when he is blind?" Margaret asked with a child's innocence and an adult's skepticism, as she seated herself dutifully on the large timeworn armchair.

"Maybe he was not always blind," Kathy offered tentatively, taking a careful step into the room as if the floor board would swallow her whole.

"That is quite right, Kathy," Blair said with an encouraging nod, "he had a terrible accident a few years ago, which destroyed his sight."

The little girl's face fell as she regarded the room solemnly. Blair knew that she was clever enough to figure out the implications of that revelation for herself, so she refrained from saying more.

Quietly, Kathy walked to the shelves and let he fingers glide over the spines almost lovingly, as Blair had done when she first discovered the library.

"So he can't read any of these anymore?" Kathy asked with such a deep sadness in her voice that it unsettled Blair.

As she drew a breath to answer, Blair noticed a shadow moving in the open doorway. It made her uneasy that she had to idea how long he had been standing there, but his position suggested that it had been a while. Leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, he appeared to be listening intently.

Blair hesitated, regarding him carefully, not knowing if he was waiting for her to answer the question.

"He has people that read the books to him, girls," she said, keeping her eyes on Mr. Bass's face. Both children had their backs to the door, so they had not noticed his presence yet.

"He has more than one?" Blair heard the older girl scoff.

"I don't know, Margaret, maybe it is just one," she said for his benefit, which he answered with an amused smile.

"What does Mr. Bass like to be read, Miss Waldorf?" Kathy asked curiously, while continuing to walk the lines of books.

She saw him raise an eyebrow, a knowing smirk on his lips challenging her to respond.

"He enjoys adult fairy tales, Kathy," Blair said with a playful undertone she hoped he would catch.

"You mean books with kissing and such," Margaret said with a shudder, curling her lips in distaste.

Blair couldn't help and let out a laugh at the child's sour face. "Yes, something like that." The child huffed and slumped back into the chair, crossing her arms over her body in displeasure, clearly not happy with her answer.

Yet, when Blair's gaze shifted to Kathy, the child's face had grown pale, her wide eyes staring at Mr. Bass's form in the doorway. Swiftly, Blair walked over and kneeled down next to her, touching her shoulders gently. From the corner of her eyes, she saw Mr. Bass straightening his posture, apparently sensing the change in the room.

"Kathy," Blair said, shaking her softly, "you don't need to be afraid. This nice gentleman is Mr. Bass."

Margaret jumped up from her seat immediately, dipping a deep curtsey in front of Mr. Bass. "I'm very pleased to meet you," she chirped sweetly.

Without hesitation, Mr. Bass stepped into room and bowed dramatically in front of Margret. "You must be one of the young Misses Baizen," he said smoothly." The pleasure is all mine then."

With amusement Blair noticed Margaret blushing and a flattered smile appearing on her face.

"Excuse me, Miss Baizen, I must not neglect your sister," he said regretfully. "Might you show me the way?"

"Gladly, Mr. Bass," Margaret replied obligingly as she lifted her arm to grasp his hand. For a moment she hesitated, probably wondering if it would be proper for her to touch him, but then deciding to take his sleeve instead.

When they stopped in front of Blair and Kathy, Mr. Bass crouched down next to them and held out his hand to the small girl. "You must be the youngest Miss Baizen then?"

Kathy only nodded in response, her eyes darting anxiously from Blair to her sister to Mr. Bass and back again.

"Remember your manners, Kathy," Margaret hissed.

Trembling, the young girl lifted her hand and laid it in Mr. Bass's palm daintily. He gave a sincere smile and bent down to place a kiss on the back of the child's hand. "It is a great pleasure to meet you, Miss Baizen," he said in a velvety voice that Blair had never heard him use before.

Like her sister before , Kathy grew flustered, drew back her hand and started regarding her shoes with great interest. It made Blair wonder how many girls and women had already succumbed to his charms and graces and if she herself had already become one of them.

"Ladies," he said as he got back up from the floor, "I have to get back to work, but you are free to use the library at your own digression."

"Thank you, Mr. Bass. That is very gracious of you," Margaret said with another curtsey.

Rather than leaving, however, he held out his hand to Blair, offering to pull her up. Smiling to herself, she joined her hand with his and let him assist her. Yet, instead of letting her go, he drew her closer to him. So close she could smell his shaving water and count the small scars on his skin. Suddenly, she was reminded of the night she had counted these scars with her fingers and how exciting it had felt to kiss him.

For a moment she feared he would be indecent in front of the girls, but he only leaned down close to her ear. His breath on her neck making her shiver and his lips almost touching her earlobes, she found it hard to concentrate on anything else but him and the way his thumb stroked the skin on the back of her hand. "I trust you won't let them read the adult fairytales, Miss Waldorf," he whispered before stepping back and letting go of her hand.

He gave a short nod to the girls. "Goodbye, Ladies."

Margaret's eyes followed his retreat from the room with great fascination, as if watching a strange animal. Blair, however, could feel Kathy's eyes on her, regarding her curiously.

To break the strange atmosphere in the room, Blair clapped her hands twice. "Come now, girls, take your seats. We have a lot of work to do." She waited until both children had made themselves comfortable on the plush sofa.

"Since I didn't have much time to prepare a lesson, we'll make do with what we have here in the library." Blair scanned the room with desperation . "I'm sure Mr. Bass has some German books we can use."

Margaret let out a deep dramatic sigh and slumped back against the back rest. "Do we have to do German, Miss Waldorf? It's tedious," she whined.

"First, straighten your posture, Margaret," Blair replied in a steely voice. "I'm sure your mother did not teach you to slouch like a baker's boy."

"Ja, Miss Waldorf," the girl answered with an eye roll, but did as she was bid.

"Now girls, let's see how much you remember. We'll start with conjugation and then move on to practicing the cases."

Margaret let out another groan, but remained quiet when Blair looked at her with a questioning eyebrow. Kathy, on the hand, was occupied by watching the open door attentively.

"Gut," Blair continued, "Fräulein Katherine, bitte konjugieren Sie das Verb 'essen'." It took a moment until Kathy had realized that she was spoken to, not without a helping nudge of her sister's elbow.

Her wide, puzzled eyes locked with Blair's, apparently not having heard the instructions. "Entschuldigung, Miss Waldorf," she said quietly.

Blair gave a short nod of understanding and turned her attention to her sister. "Dann vielleicht Sie, Fräulein Margaret?"

Blair saw Margaret's eyes light up at the prospect of besting her sister and began to rattle down the verbs eagerly.

It took a few tries before the smaller girl was able to concentrate enough to answer a question correctly without being distracted by her surroundings. Blair had the feeling that the house unsettled the child for some reason, but whenever she inquired whether something was bothering her, Kathy shook her head.

After a few hours of reading, conversation, and practicing vocabulary, Mr. Bass's butler appeared, telling her that the carriage was waiting outside to take the two Misses back home.

"Margaret, you can go ahead and wait in the carriage. I would like to have a short word with your sister," Blair said, hoping the young girl would open up to her when alone.

For a short moment, Margaret looked as if she wanted to argue, maybe fearing she would be missing something important, but eventually left the room with slow steps, glancing back to see if she might catch some of the words.

"Please be to kind as to close the door, Margaret," Blair called after her to keep her from lurking just outside the door.

When Margaret had shut the door, Blair sat down next to Kathy on the sofa, taking her small hand in hers.

"Kathy, your mama told me that she caught you playing in the old mill a few times. Is that right?"

The child's eyes looked at her with surprise and guilt. Quickly, Kathy averted her gaze to study the ruffles of her dress, perhaps stalling to come up with an excuse, but Blair knew that her silence was answer enough.

"You are not supposed to play there," Blair continued in a firm voice. "It is dangerous and it worries your mother and me. Do you understand that?"

Kathy nodded wordlessly, but big tears started to roll over her pale cheeks and drip onto the skirt of her dress, leaving dark stains.

"Little one," Blair said softly, wiping away a tear with her thumb, "will you promise me to not go there anymore?"

"But I need to help them, Miss," she replied boldly as if wanting to defy Blair.

Blair frowned in confusion, turning the child's face towards her gently. "Whom, Kathy?"

"The burning people," the child whispered, her eyes wide and nervous.

Remembering that Kathy had often suffered from similar nightmares when Blair had still lived at Twelve Oaks Manor, she feared those images had now spilled over in the child's waking hours. She hoped with all her heart that Kathy had neither told her parents nor doctors about these daydreams since it might move them to not only send her to a reformatory school but possibly to an insane asylum.

"Kathy," Blair said imploringly, "the people in the mill are all dead. You cannot help them anymore."

The girl nodded once more, but her eyes told Blair that she had no intention of heeding her words. With a sigh, she squeezed the child's hands affectionately. "Now go, little one. Your sister is waiting outside."

She slid off the sofa clumsily with a toothy grin and made her way to the door, stopping suddenly to turn back around. "When will we have the next lesson, Miss Waldorf?" she asked doubtfully.

Blair smiled. "Soon, I think, if your Mama does not change her mind and your Papa does not object."

"Why would Papa object?" Kathy asked with all the innocence of a child that had just learned about the true origin of babies.

Swallowing, Blair searched her mind for an adequate answer. "He was not very satisfied with me, I think." Her voice cracking, she knew that Mr. Bass would have known immediately that she was lying. Yet, she hoped it would escape Kathy.

The girl looked at her silently as if waiting for another explanation, making Blair uneasy. "Run along now, Kathy. You sister will be angry with you if you make her wait too long."

Doing as she was told, the child left the room promptly without asking further questions. When Blair finally heard the entrance door fall shut with a dull thud, she allowed herself to recline her head against the back of the sofa, her eyes closing almost of their own account.

For a moment she wondered if she should have told Kathy the truth about her dismissal from their house, to put her and her sister on their guard. Yet, even if they believed her, she did not know how to protect them if their father meant to hurt them. The sounds she had heard behind the locked rooms in the Baizen's manor still echoed relentlessly through her memory, as she stood in front of the barred doors, incapable and helpless.

Suddenly, there were Kathy's cold fingers grabbing her hand, pulling her along, up the stairs, along endless white glimmering hallways filled with darkness. Large wooden double wing doors to their left and right lined their path as they approached a small window at the far end of the hall. Hearing odd noises behind the doors, Blair moved to open them. Kathy, however, shook her head sadly and coaxed her further along until they had reached the window. As she peered out, bright, violent flames blinded her, though she could not feel their heat on her skin. Unable to look away, she saw the form of large brick buildings emerge from the blaze, a courtyard filed with working people, oblivious to the surrounding fire.

She wanted to call out to them, to warn them, but a loud clattering sound next to her caught her unaware. As she looked to her left, expecting to find Kathy, the grey face of Mr. Bass's butler was staring at her instead. To her bewilderment he was carrying a loaded tea tray, which he placed briskly on a side table next to the sofa, the cups and saucer clinking garishly.

"Are you all right, Miss?" he asked politely.

Blair tried to sit up slowly, her mind still grasping for reality. With surprise she noticed that someone had already lit a fire in the room.

Giving the butler a silent nod, she now realized that she must have fallen asleep after her lesson with the girls.

"The Master bid me to bring you some refreshments, Miss," the servant drawled.

"Thank you," she answered dismissively while trying to smooth out her dress. She felt embarrassed, knowing how the scene must have looked to him, to find her sleeping in the library rather than working diligently.

After he had left her with a sharp bow, she rose to check her appearances in one of the windows, trying to shake the dream from her thoughts. Fortunately, it was already dark enough to see her reflection in the glass, though the sky still wore a pale shade of violet.

A dark shadow appeared behind her. "You are up, Miss Waldorf?" a deep voice said with surprise. "The servants told me you were resting in here."

"Quite the scandal, I imagine," she stated dryly, turning around to face him.

He chuckled, stepping into the library and closing the door behind him. She saw that he had already taken off his coat and cravat, the vest over his starched white shirt already unbuttoned.

"Why did you not tell me you were going to sack Mr. Linton today, Mr. Bass?" she asked with an accusing tone, needing to know why he had not wanted to involve her in his decision even though she had discovered that the overseer was not to be trusted.

"Why did you not tell me you were bringing the Baizen girls today or that you were planning to go to _The Lion_?" he asked in return, his voice tense and demanding.

"I don't owe you an explanation," Blair said, letting it hang between them for a second. "But I guess it was a spur of the moment thing."

"Ditto, Miss Waldorf," he said with a shrug of his shoulders.

She felt disappointment rise inside of her at his overbearing temper. "I was hoping I could be of more assistance to you with Mr. Linton," she said formally.

He lowered his head, smirking, before walking to the armchair, leaning his arms on the backrest. "You mean to imply, you would have liked to concoct a war plan with me, in the dark of the night?"

She huffed, already feeling silly to have told him. "Well, if you put it like that, Mr. Bass, I don't –"

He raised a hand, stopping her. "I think your talents are far more valuable for more pressing matters of business, Miss Waldorf. I wanted to deal with Linton clean and swiftly, but he insisted on making it difficult. "

She remained silent, waiting for him to continue.

He cleared his throat. "I apologize for the turmoil. It was not one of our finest moments." Pausing for a moment, his fingers started kneading the weathered leather beneath his hands. "I hope he did not harm you."

She shook her head, pleased to hear the concern in his voice even if it did not show on his face. "No, I'm very well, Mr. Bass, only the children were a bit scared." The scene played in her head once more, blurry and dreamlike. Felling Mr. Linton's anger vibrate through his body, wondering about the object in the butler's hand, hearing the sickening thud as stone hit its target, seeing the blood soil the dirt beneath her. "Thankfully one of your workers had a good aim," she said, her thought still on the lifeless body on the ground and how she had felt nothing but relief.

"Yes," he said quietly, his jaw tense, as he turned his face towards the fireplace. If it had been another man, she would have said that he was staring at the wall, lost in his thought, but it seemed as if he wanted to hide from her.

"Did you happen to see who it was? I might want to thank him for his courage," he finally continued in a more animated tone.

"I'm sorry, no. It all happened too quickly."

"Of course," he said as he pushed himself off the chair and walked towards the side table next to the armchair, pouring himself a glass of scotch. "Would you care for a drink?" he asked without turning his head.

"No, thank you." She watched him fill a glass with the brown liquid, his hands working meticulously, the movement perfected through years of practice. "I like to keep my wits about me."

She saw his lips twitch as he gestured to the tray on the table across from him. "I also had Andrew lay out a cold dinner if you are hungry. I'm sure you have not eaten much today."

"Who is Andrew?" she asked in confusion.

Turning towards her, he took a deep gulp from his glass. "Andrew is my butler, Miss Waldorf," he answered wryly.

Indeed feeling her empty stomach, Blair made her way to the generous display of scones, cold ham and fresh blackberries. Sitting back down, she plopped one of the berries into her mouth. As the fruit burst between her teeth, she closed her eyes to enjoy the tart taste on her tongue. It felt like an eternity that she had last enjoyed a blackberry. She remembered stealing them from her parent's garden before her mother had decided to replace them with rose bushes.

"How did your lesson go?" Mr. Bass's voice cut into her thoughts, probably wondering why she was being so quite.

She quickly swallowed the berry. "Very well, I think, though I think I have to work on their manners a bit."

"They seemed well-behaved to me already," he said with a benignancy certainly meant to flatter her. "But you should not try to mold them too much," he added, taking another sip from his tumbler.

"And you say this why?"

In response he only smirked, which always made her feel as if she was missing a crucial piece of information. "Let's just say I'm very observant, Miss Waldorf."

She was not sure if she should take offense that he thought he needed to give her advice in child rearing or if she was truly projecting her own childhood onto the girls. As she could not decide on her reaction, she grabbed one of the scones instead and bore her fingers into it deeply before ripping it apart.

As she swallowed her frustration along with the baked morsels, she was reminded that she had no right to hold grudge against Mr. Bass when it was her who had broken their contract.

"Mr. Bass, I apologize that both girls were here," she said while watching his face, "I know that is not what we agreed on."

He let out a small, dismissive laugh, his features holding no signs of disappointment or resentment. "I think I can afford to be forgiving today, given your generous renouncement of your personal maid."

Like always when one of her shams had been discovered, she felt as if being dropped from a steep height. "How do you –?"

"Oh, I might not be able to see, Miss Waldorf," he said, toasting her with his drink, "but I can assure you that my lawyer certainly can."

Blair paused, not wanting to admit to anything before she knew his game. "Of course," she acquiesced.

"Might I ask what caused this change of heart?" he asked with unsettling casualty, swirling the scotch around with slow movements of his wrist.

Despite his non-chalant demeanor, she understood that he wanted her to reveal some part of herself, which had made her cross out the paragraph in a moment of sheer stupidity. "One can't really trust maids, Mr. Bass. It would be an ordeal to find a suitable one," she replied somberly.

"I see," he said with an emphatic nod. "Nothing to do then with what I told you about the state of my finances?"

"I'm not that tender-hearted, Mr. Bass," she sneered. "You should know that by now."

"I do know that, Miss Waldorf," he replied in a calm voice. She could see a pensive smile playing on his lips as his fingers traced elusive shapes on the tumbler's crystal surface. "What I don't understand is why you kissed me."

He raised his head, seemingly to look at her. "Is it because you felt sorry for me?" he asked with such sincerity that Blair knew she had to answer him truly.

She shook her head silently, but remembered that he couldn't see her. "No," she stated with conviction.

He raised an eyebrow, apparently doubting her answer.

Blair let out an exasperated sigh. "I guess it was momentary insanity," she said tartly.

Playfulness spread across his features. "Will it happen again?"

She knew he had meant it as a teasing question, wanting to draw her out, but all she could think about were the hate in Mr. Linton's eyes today in the yard and Serena's words.

_They are saying that you are his whore._

Scanning his face, Blair searched for an answer to a question she hadn't yet spoken aloud.

"Do you want it to happen again?" She had wanted it to sound confident and aloof, but knew immediately that she had not succeeded when the self-assured grin on his lips faded to be replaced by a frown**.**

He hesitated, which caught Blair more unaware than she cared to admit.

"I can't deny that I do, Blair," he finally answered in a controlled voice that lacked any smugness, "but you already knew that, didn't you?"

"I would make a perfect mistress, wouldn't I?" she probed.

He shook his head, the crease on his forehead deepening. "I don't follow."

She rose, stepping towards him, a mindlesssense of anger at this ignorance seething inside her. Without warning, she pressed her lips against his – hard, keeping her eyes open to enjoy the surprise on his face. She nipped at his lips slightly to provoke him into a response.

When he started parting his lips and a silent moan escaped, Blair drew back satisfied. She waited a moment till his eyes fluttered open to reveal the dark intensity beneath, before leaning back in.

"This, Mr. Bass," she whispered against his ear, drawing out his name. "My family cast me out, I'm a fallen woman," she said slowly, her nose brushing his cheek. Blindly, Blair placed her fingers on his upper arm, letting them trail a path down to his hand. Gently, she interlaced her fingers with his before she pulled his hand towards her and placed it over the scar on her stomach. His skin was cold to her touch and she felt the chill seep slowly through the fabric until goose bumps rose on her skin. She heard him exhale softly against her neck as she continued, "and I'm not in danger of falling pregnant." She paused to let her words sink in. "So there is nothing to hold me back. No one that would be hurt by my disgrace."

His lips brushed along her chin up to her ear, making her shiver involuntarily. While her body was apparently not averse to going through with her proposition, her mind balked at the words that had come out of her mouth. As she felt him nip her earlobe with purpose, she admitted to herself that there might be worse ways to lose her honor and reputation.

"No one," she heard him whisper trough her dizzy thoughts, while his fingers drew undefinable shapes on the thin fabric covering her stomach. "No one except yourself."

As his words pierced her consciousness, she let out a laugh, which had already frozen dead in her throat. She stepped back away from him and out of his reach. "Maybe I don't care anymore. Isn't that what you told me? To stop caring about other people's opinions?" Blair crossed her arms in front of her, balling her hands into fists. Feeling exposed and furious enough to slap him, she turned away from him.

She heard him place his glass on the table before taking a step towards her, close enough that she could feel the pull of his body. "If that is truly how you think, I, of course, applaud it," he paused, exhaling softly, "but you should know that is not why I wanted you."

"No?" she scoffed, turning back around so she could see his face. "Then tell me," she whispered, running her index finger up the lapels of his shirt, "that you didn't want me for my body when we first met."

He ran a hand through his hair, his eyes flickering with frustration. "I won't deny it, Blair."

"So why did you save me that night if you only wanted me for my body?" Her voiced was laced by a hard, uneasy edge that was foreign to her. "Did you feel sorry for me?" she echoed his former question, though suddenly feeling sick at the thought that he might answer in the affirmative.

"I guess it was momentary insanity," he replied dryly.

She laughed humorlessly, letting her fingers slip from his clothes.

He let out a sigh, starting to rub his neck with his hand, which he seemed wont to do when feeling uncomfortable. "I was intrigued," he said with a shrug, "you seemed so out of place there and still you kept teasing me with your body, trusting me with it. I knew I couldn't let you just slip away." He raised his eyebrows expectantly at her.

The honesty of his answer pleased her and a small smile played on her lips, as she reached for his hand. Slowly, she twined her fingers through his, pulling him down next to her on the sofa.

"Shall I read another book to you today, Mr. Bass?" she asked in a rigid tone, though knowing very well where she was steering the conversation.

For a moment bewilderment flickered on his face as he was trying to read her intentions. However, content amusement lit up his features as he reclined against the velvet cushions, one arm gesturing dramatically towards the bookshelves, the other one draped leisurely over the backrest so that his fingers almost touched her shoulder. "Whatever pleases you, Miss Waldorf."

Frustrated at his refusal to play along with her, she decided to push him further. "So you will nott force me to read from the last book again?"

"I was under the impression that you were quite taken with it since you took it up to your room," he said suggestively.

Blair's gaze swept the rows of books unseeingly, while trying to come up with a satisfying and uncompromising answer.

"For reasons of study, of course," she said in her most disinterested voice as she glanced back at his relaxed form. His open arms all but inviting her to lean into his embrace.

"Of course," he said with mock sincerity. "I hope your studies were fruitful then?"

For a moment she felt as if he was watching her again, the flames of the fireplace reflected in his dark eyes, making them appear almost affectionate. She could not recollect her husband ever looking at her in such a way and now realized that this man in front of her might deserve from her than coquettish taunts and spiteful intimacy.

With slow progressing movements, she bridged the gap between them, leaning forward and letting her weight rest on one arm as she pressed her lips against his tenderly for a long moment. "Quite," she whispered against his mouth. His lips twitched under hers in response before they stilled completely. When he did not move, she drew back, watching the frown on his forehead deepen and his lips harden into a thin line. "Why do you like to tease me like that?" he said in rough voice that barely veiled his displeasure.

Blair paused for a moment, searching for the right answer within the ever-changing mix of raw contentment and misery displayed on his face. "Because of your reaction. It's like you can't bear it," she finally said, hoping it would be enough.

He let out a shaky laugh and shook his head in apparent disbelief. "Well, I can't, so don't tease me unless you mean it."

She knew he was giving her a way out of their game, but she had no desire to play coy with him any longer. "I do, Chuck," she said in a hushed voice, that he could choose to overhear.

The faint smile appearing at the corner of his mouth thrilled her. "So, we are on first names now?" he jeered, his eyes twinkling merrily.

She let out a laugh, enjoying his impertinence. "On certain occasions, yes."

"And which would that be? Just to be clear."

"When we are alone," she murmured softly, leaving everything else unsaid.

Blair watched his fingers trail along the plush surface of the sofa until he found her muslin-covered leg. "So," he said in a tone that sounded almost bored, "I can call you Blair when I do this?" His fingers brushed along her thigh, upwards, to the top of her knees. His perfected casualness might have angered her before, but she knew this game now. It was a game she had started. He was testing her boundaries to elicit a reaction, slowly weakening the barriers between them.

"Yes, of course," she replied in a similar tone.

His features betrayed no sign of disappointment or amusement at her answer. "What about this?" he asked as he carefully lifted the hand resting on her leg to her neck, curving his palm and fingers gently around her throat. She felt her pulse quicken under his touch and knew that he must feel it too. Still, she nodded.

"And this?" he whispered darkly, as he bent down to her neck, pushing her body deep into the lush cushions. She closed her eyes as she felt his lips on her skin, her pulse now beating loudly and erratically. When his tongue tasted her pulse point, she couldn't even delude herself into thinking that he had not noticed. Blair knew that she had lost this game, and he knew it too. It felt surreal and unlike everything else her husband had ever done with her.

She felt the smirk on his lips as he continued his path down her collarbone towards the neckline of her dress; yet, she did not stop or slap him. Instead, she let her head fall to the side to give him better access.

When she noticed his hand leaving her neck to untie her gown, however, her mind started racing. All she wanted in this moment was to be like Serena. To just enjoy the moment and worry about it afterwards. She had nothing to lose after all. Still, she felt her body tense as his kisses grew more fervid.

His fingers tugged on her sleeves, while she heard him whisper her name against her bared shoulder. "No, Mr. Bass," she heard herself say in a strangled voice.

Blair felt his lips leave her instantly, and a shaky breath meeting her skin instead. She heard him inhale deeply before pulling away from her and reclaiming a seat on the settee as far away from her as possible - so far that it almost hurt, though it was what she had wanted.

Realizing her state of disarray, Blair straightened her posture and clothing as graciously as possible, while trying to calm her breathing which seemed to sound as loud as the spinning wheels in the mill. She was embarrassed at herself for not stopping earlier, for stopping it in the beginning, for not being as fearless as Serena, for being herself.

Not knowing what to say or how to relieve the heavy tension in the room, she glanced over to him, but found him with his elbows resting on his knees and his fingers knitting the muscles in his neck restlessly.

"I think that is all for tonight, Mr. Bass." She rose to leave the room.

"Do we have a deal, Miss Waldorf?" she heard him ask behind her. Surprised, she turned around and saw him standing, holding out his hand to her as he had done the first night, an encouraging smirk playing on his lips.

She couldn't help but smile in return, though as always, his features showed no sign of recognition. Quickly, she grabbed his hand, squeezing it tightly to let him know she was pleased. "We have a deal, ."

Blair moved to pull her hand away, but he held fast and brought it up to his lips, stepping closer at the same time. Surprised, a small laugh escaped her and in the spur of the moment she lifted her free hand to caress his cheek. Yet, before she had time to analyze her folly, a loud knock on the door startled them both into a more appropriate distance.

After a short moment, the iron hinges groaned silently, and the old butler stepped into the room, as usual not even glancing at Blair as he bowed.

"What is it?" Chuck barked, clearly irritated at the intrusion.

"I apologize for the disturbance, Sir," he said stiffly, "but there has been a letter for the Misses. A servant boy from _The Lion_ came to deliver it."

Chuck waved his hand in dismissal. "Give it to her then."

He produced the letter from behind his back and held it out for Blair to take, but made no effort to step towards her. So she marched towards him and made a show of curtsying deeply before snatching the document from his fingers. "Thank you, Andrew," she said politely.

She knew very well that every well-trained butler would take offense at being called by his first name by a woman of questionable circumstances, but she was also aware that he would not dare to chastise her before the Master of the house.

He opened his mouth to speak, but when she raised an eyebrow at him in warning he only bowed stiffly in the direction of his Master and left the room.

"That won't make him like you more, Miss Waldorf," Chuck stated in a warning tone before she even had time to enjoy her triumph.

Astonished at his reproach, she watched him pour himself another glass of scotch at the side table. Until now he had mostly seemed amused or even admiring of her power play with the servants. Unsure how to take his reaction, she only shrugged. "Don't worry, Mr. Bass. I don't think I can fall any lower in his esteem."

He took a sip from his drink. "He has been with me for a long time, Miss Waldorf, so I think he commands some respect from you, given that you were a servant yourself," he said in a cold, stern voice.

"I apologize if I offended you," she said in a tone reflecting his, "but don't treat me like a child."

He only nodded, gesturing towards the door. "I think it is best if you leave now, Miss Waldorf."

To punish him, she did as he bid without saying another word or making another sound, except for the creaking floor panels and iron door hinges.

Blair grabbed a candle from one of the tables in the entrance hall to light her way upstairs. Though she wanted to be furious at him, she knew in her heart that he had the right of it and that she should have behaved more courteously. For a moment she considered returning to the library to tell him, but decided she would not grant him the satisfaction. There was still tomorrow morning for that.

When she entered her room, she felt a light breeze creep through the open window though it did nothing more than to stir the stuffy heat. She placed the candle on her dresser and turned to the letter still clenched in her hand.

She was relieved to see that it was still unopened. For once she was glad that the frail butler was so devoted and stern in his duties. The paper was unmarked by handwriting or seal, but when she unfolded it, she recognized the sender immediately. Serena had never been the most skilled at letter-writing and it made Blair smile to know that after everything, this at least had not changed.

She stepped closer to the flickering light on her dresser to better decipher the scrawled lines.

_B,_

_You are right, as always._

_Leaving Oldham on the morrow. Meet me at dawn in front of The Lion so we can take the first post to Manchester. And then maybe Scotland or Ireland?_

_We can make our own home, remember?_

_S_

Blair stared at the letter, reading the words over and over before she grasped their meaning. Serena wanted to escape Oldham as hurriedly as possible, and this time wanted Blair to come with her. Even if rash decisions were not usual for Serena, Blair knew that something dreadful must have happened to elicit such panic from her friend.

Her mind was already planning how to leave the mill without being seen or heard, but then her thoughts stopped at the library door and what lay behind it.

With frustration she crumbled the paper between her fingers, staring unseeing into the flame of the candle. All she had wanted to do this night was crawl under the blankets and have a dreamless night for once, but now Serena was forcing a decision on her she was not quite ready to make.

Slowly, she held the parchment over the flame, watching it catch fire and vanish before her eyes.

**AN: Much love to Kate for editing this chapter!**  
** Also, I can't express my gratitude enough for those who kept reviewing and encouraging me throughout the last months. It meant to much to me that you kept the faith that I would eventually finish this chapter (as I promised I would). Thank you! :)**


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